I wrote this in HS. It's the first 5 chapters of what may have been a books for Scholastic's SAWS competition. If I'd won they would've published a 40-chapter book. I've the rest of the story plotted out and have added a little to it but haven't revisited the work long enough to finish it. I thought keeping new speakers in quotes in teh same paragraph would make the words flow more like spoken speach in reader's minds. It just makes this harder to read :(. I tried to play with the visual appearance of text (mainly sizing) to change how readers would hear the words in their heads. The few test readers were lost and had no idea what the fuck was going on. I haven't written a narrative that transitions so frequently sense.
Ardahi, Prads, and The Spreadlands
by Kenneth Lee Barner Junior
Briefing
Д symbolizes a shift forward in time.
ה symbolizes a shift backward in time.
The larger symbols are, the greater the amount of time they represent.
The Alehsh One of two humanoid races mentioned which lives in the sky. Unlike the Trabanz (the race Sabzan is a member of), the Alehsh can not consistently stay in the air. To breath an Alehii uses imperceptible pores on their skin that must remain moist to function. When no clouds are around the Alehsh swim. Appendages lining the sides of an Alehii range from 3-1/2 a fist in bulk. These appendages sheath retractable feathers when an Alehii is swimming and spread these feathers at the end of an Alehii’s water-to-air preparations. The Alehsh feed mainly on fish. When an Alehii wants to leave the water and return to his aerial home he will use a smooth set of tentacles (and a sack which sucks water in or blows it out) in synch to propel itself 3-4 bodylengths in the air. Then he ripples water off of his skin and unsheathes his feathers to begin flying.
The Trabanz The second of the two sky-dwelling humanoid races. Smaller than the Alehsh, these scavengers survive mainly by camouflage. It is hard to notice a Traba when he flurries (rustles his feathers to release a gas that arcs light and irritates eyes). Usually, for food, a Traba will stalk another species, wait until it leaves the felled body of prey, and approach the beast-corpse as a smudge to begin its’ own meal. Rotation of a Traba’s tail pumps blood throughout its’ body and keeps it airborne. For these reasons the Trabanz sleep in the sky.
PrecisionPicks are the basic tools miners buy from Nebber, the company they work for. Despite its’ name, a PrecisionPick isn’t that accurate. They’re close to jackhammers. But they’re battery-powered, vacuum dirt into a storage chamber, have quieter engines, and hold tuning forks to spare users some vibration.
“dialogue (asides or expressions/actions related to the quotation) dialogue”
Italicized words the thoughts of one of the two main characters.
{ Italicized words } a mental feeling, image, or memory.
Separate speakers aren’t indented or given their own lines. They’re grouped by subject into paragraphs. This is done to create a closer-to-life flow of speech. If there are more than three speakers the identity of most speakers does not matter.
<> dreams.
Paragraphs without indentation are sub-paragraphs. They fall under the umbrella of the subject of the previous paragraph.
Ξ Ξ 1 Ξ Ξ
Jalsh Ze Muhnter hated failing to keep his promises. Corrugating his forehead, he wrings out sweat. Here, in a shaft that looks like a mountainside during twilight, anxious thoughts convulse beneath Jalsh’s brow.
Promised but…will I be able to keep it? The little guy looks up to me {a fragile four-year-old hangs a miner’s hat, lopsided, on his head}
Jalsh leaves the PrecisionPick running with his weight off.
To fail him {smiling teeth compete to outshine the wide-spread eyes of a boy} to have lied to him…
“Huhhhhhhh”
well, I’ve got no control over this. If I find something –that’ll net me promotion! Then, I can celebrate. But if not? Maybe I’m not lying. I could always get promoted again.
Leaning onto the PrecisionPick, returning his weight to its’ digbit, Jalsh returns to work.
yeah. There’re lots of settlers now. Who knows how many new jobs will be needed? Could be I’ll get even higher than Under Foreman. There-could-be enough miners, I’d getmyowncrew!Yah! What if there were enough settlers to make me a Foreman? They’d need more miners (can never have enough) but we originals (the experienced ones) would get promoted. Man, no morKNK
Splinters of light catch in Jalsh’s eyes. He hit solid under this rock. Something solid and sparkly. Pawing the dirt wildly-Jalsh left the PrecisionPick laying, grinding, on the ground-he cleans off more dirt to finfools gold.
I need a break.
Cavern-floor-coughed clouds wait, time a forgotten thing, before the viscous air sucks after soles, then trail after as plumes. Looming above unnoticed dirt thunderheads is Jalsh Muhnter. He’s closer to the shaft-ladder but the light doesn’t let on. Rocks lunge, bulge, and stir from silent slumber at the conical light which breaths them into existence.
{rocks…more rocks}
Some of the most solid materials in the Earth’s intestines mingle together around Jalsh. The walls of rock mimic molars. They were hewn by professionals, men who regularly worked surgery on a being bigger, rougher, and heavier than they. But the walls by Jalsh, an arms-length away, are coarse. Some will cut a man if he moves too fast. A relaxed pace set by Jalsh’s legs almost gives the soft ground time to resettle after every step. A Durolight on the back of Jalsh’s right hand is joined by
{a yellow circle on the tunnel floor}
Jalsh turns off his Durolight. Familiar rungs come into being while: 1)he walks 2)tunnel-walls wink out of existence.
You’d think that the Layout Heads would make these reach the ground. After a day at the stone, a man could crawl home.
Breath of relief pushes across plants to strain their spines with bends that thread light across them. On both sides of his path home, Jalsh is surrounded. To a tropical treeline the ground rolls with waves and shimmers like a prism rolled in-hand. Breezes convince fuzz-heads to cough out seed shoots. Fuzz-head pinions trace the route of spirits above the fields. Untamed grass slouches into half-arcs on the path sides then leans away with a shush of sound. The hill has a full head of hair. Pollen dots the washed-out horizon, will-o-wisps from the suns’ touch. Though respiration carries easy around
Airs’ freshest move yet puts in Jalsh’s inhaling nostrils the smell of slurry. {younger limbs below. The texture of a piece of grass. }{Grandpa’s legs and the controls to his scraper.}Back when a window of a scraper was as tall as me. I may take Huey to Jini isle a day to show him where his great-grandfather worked. I’d like to visit there again.
д д д
Jell Dravire Manscrest Dustwallow waves out laughs towards her little ‘un (Huey), more often than a mother whale sends sonar to her own child. Huey’s gummy hand holds tense between his mother’s fingers. Together, Huey and his mommy spin. While they: laugh, play, and knead the grass with turning footsteps a softer tread draws near unnoticed.
{a laughing wife and son holding hands and spinning together}Here’s a beauty I’ll always have to look at. But I won’t leave my son wantin’. I’ll find something valuable, get promoted, and make our lives wonderful.
“Hey honey is lunch ready?”
Jell laughs after catching herself, having almost fallen with the suddenness Huey let go. He has run to his father.
“Daddy! Daddy you’re home! Find something?” “Just the bad stuff.” “Are you ready to eat?” “Yeah. You go in and set up; I’ll be in soon.”
Huey runs away while his parents let less grass separate them. Jell reaches out and they mingle fingers above their shoulders. They hug. “I am hungry. How you been? Anything interesting happen these last few hours?” Jalsh leans away from Jell’s ear so he can see her face. “Our son and I have had a heapload of fun that you have missed. Stay here in the morning dear, for all you know, another miner will be first to the tunnel” “set-up!” “to make a claim on whatever you find.” Jalsh releases his wife. “We’ll be in in a bit. Go ahead and start son.(Jalsh turns his head back from the door to his wife) Honey, I know when the guys show up. Whenever I find something I’ll just have to show up earlier. Besides, these are good guys: I know them; they’re not gonna say they’ve found something someone else has clearly dug-out.” “Who here wouldn’t want to make Under Foreman? Twib and Kledsef might be nice enough to us now but if they found gold, or something else that would earn them promotion…” “My friends aren’t going to fuck mess me up like that baby. That’s what makes them friends. Treoneph and the other guys too, they wouldn’t take my claim. You don’t wanna be at odds with all the miners under you, if you make Under Foreman.” Jalsh opens the door and follows his wife in. Concern plead to be heard in Jell’s eyes. “(in a subdued voice) Dear –you keep saying you can trust these guys. What if you can’t trust them?”
Jalsh and Jell Muhnter look at their son. “Aren’t you guys gonna eat?” “Yeah, we’ll be right in son.” “ ‘kay” stays in their ears longer than their son stays in sight. He has run back to the lunch-table.
Jalsh sweeps his upper body left then right in search of something. “Damn-it! I forgot my stuff down the shaft.” “What’d you say?” “Nothing. Eat your lunch up, and you’ll hear strong enough to tell.” “Ohw.”
Both parents decide to talk more later. It’s mutually agreed, familiarity and voluminous looks replacing words.
д д д
“How did the dinner I did turn out dear?” “cold It was good honey. I liked it a lot. Listen to you! The dinner you did? Why, you’re ‘bout informal.” “I like to think, I have adapted pretty well.” “You’re a regular chameleon. If only you were uglier, then you’d fit in with all the other wives around here entirely.” Jell giggles in Jalsh’s arms, the two of them sitting with legs entwined across the couch, while Huey is a transfixed foil for his spinning top. “Mrs.Dubsci’s done alot for her looks.” She is beautiful, better than the other wives around here. And I can’t really complain about the food being cold. With me coming ho”dear, you had said, earlier, that you forgot something?” “Yeah, I left my stuff in the mine shaft.” “What stuff?” “Some of it…the PrecisionPick, you know, the things that’re mostly a pain to bring up here.” “(Some concern seeps into Jell’s voice) What’s going on that you forgot your things in the mine?” “Well I was frustrated. This morning I found some fool’s gold I’ll have to try to dig around it now and I was just ready to come home. I’ll pick my things up before the shift starts.” “(Jell rubs her head between Jalsh’s shoulder and chest, to seem more fitful than she really is) When will you have to go?” “Not for awhile. I don’t wanna leave here until I have to.(Jalsh squeezes Jell affectionatly)” “(hope traces outlines around Jell’s words) You could stay here in the morning.” “Baby we been through this…” “I know, I know but..if you find something special, something that’ll win you the promotion during your shift, great! But I’d rather have you here with Huey and me in the morning than have a promoted husband. I’m fine living like we do now.” “I know you don’t mind honey but I want better for Huey. I don’t want him sitting here bored with simple things. He may not know now but, I don’t want him to grow up some day, looking back at his childhood, and feeling shamed that he didn’t have much.” “He won’t. Things are just that: things. It’s better he have people. It’s best we both have you.” “In the long run we won’t have to decide between giving him is he still playing? time with me not listening? and finer things; good he’ll have both.” “Why not wait until after the second shift to put in extra work then? You have said before that the other guys would know what you were doing then but if you trust them, let them see.” “That’s not the only reason remember?” “Yes I do and I trust your judgment when it comes to mining. It may be easier before evening when it’s near-time to sleep but that’s why it’d be better for us if you worked in the evening. Huey sleeps then too. He only has an hour with you when it’s dark. But when he’s awake you’re away for hours more than you need to be.” “The sooner I have something dug up the sooner I’ll spend more time with Huey (who still stares at his top, despite repeated recitations of his name), besides I want to wait as little as possible if something shows. I can’t imagine finding crystals or something, picking them out, and waiting until the next day to claim them. It’d drive me nuts to try to sleep, knowing the position of Under Foreman was so close.” “When you find something in the evening we’ll celebrate the night together as a family. You’re not really so impatient are you? (Jell repositions herself to hang her hands from the back of Jalsh’s neck)” “No. That’s only part of it. The real reason is (Jalsh filters his son’s pale-brown hair through his fingers) this guy.” “What’d I do!” “Nothing yet boy. But someday I’ll help you d” “Leader of the first prize crew!” Jell sits-up next to Jalsh as Huey scrambles into his lap. “Huh? You think I could be first prize crew captain!” “A prize crew captain ain’t nuthin’. You know Bale’ik?” “uh-huh?” “He’s mining out-of-shift like I am. You remember not to tell anyone that right?” “(Huey looks sincerely fly-eyed at Jalsh and nods) Right.” “That stays in our family. So Bale’ik? (with a can-you-believe-that? How ridiculous! Touch of amusement) he has been out digging after shifts are over. So after this guy gets done with a days worth of regular work, he’s straining on at his weariest to uncover (here Jalsh leans closer to Huey his voice lightly flushed with a touch of teaching) a mineral or crystal, something shiny or rare that does something special. To make a claim (the former intonation comes back as Jalsh leans back) he has to completely clear a 5 by 5 section. So if he finds anything down there, he still has to dig out more. Ya understand?” “What if Bale’ik knows some ‘Pick technique you don’t?” “Son, look at these (Jalsh holds his hands out past Huey’s head. Huey turns around to see the palms). See the calluses? (Huey is picking at them) You get those from working with the rock. (his voice has regained an explanatory tone) With the PrecisionPick’s handles vibrating, rocks you’re touching all the time, and all the other rough stuff you touch down there, you build these up. Daddy has been working at the shafts for a long time and his hands still get hurting after enough work. It’s not easy work either. It’s cold down there but it doesn’t matter. You work long enough, you’ll sweat like grass. It doesn’t matter how you move your ‘Pick son, when there’s sweat in your eyes, and your hands are stiffening up you get sloppier.” “How do you know Bale’ik’s that tired after his shifts (Huey is massivly tilted to keep his feet far out on the floor and he’s looking up under daddy’s chin)?” “I’ve talked with guys who’ve seen him coming from his after-shift work. They say he can barely stand.” Jell decides to layer on some sympathy: “sweety, (Huey looks at his mom, climbs up his dad, and is held by his mom) Bale’ik didn’t get any time in the shafts for three whole years. It’s kindoflike, you know how each break-month we’ve went sledding?” “Yeah.” “You know how you’ve been scared?” “I’m not scared!” “Well, each time we go to the mountain you’re slightly nervous at first. But after you’ve sled some you don’t want to leave. Bale’ik has to get used to mining again like you’ve had to get used to sledding again.” Jalsh adds-on: “He has to get used to the moti…” Huey has returned to the floor with disinterest. Huey spins around “There was something I was gonna say!”. His parents sit and look, waiting to hear it. “I forgot what I was gonna say! (he turns to his mother and grabs her hands to climb up) Help me remember.” “I don’t know what all we said.” “(Jell’s eyes rove the room with thought) We were talking about mining and how it hurts your hands and daddy working early a” “Oh! I remember!” Jalsh and Jell show he has their full attention. “(Huey turns to daddy) How do you know other miners haven’t seen you like they’ve seen Bale’ik. How come I have to keep quiet?” Jalsh pauses to take in a thought. Jell answers: “Daddy may be seen sweetie” “but if you tell people outside this family you might get me in trouble with someone who hasn’t seen.” “And we want to teach you not to go gossiping about what we do. Just like Mommy and Daddy don’t go out and tell our friends all the things you do, because you might be embarrassed, we don’t want you to tell your friends all the things that we do.” Huey returns to his top. All the jawing he’d done left little spittle to loosen Jalsh’s tongue. “Babe, will you get me something to drink?” “Yes, dear.” A kiss later Jell is off to the kitchen on a water-pouring mission. Jalsh’s just watching her.
She has adjusted well to a miner’s life. If I had had servants, hell, I would’ve never worked for no one again. But my honey, she’s learned well. {a pie, Jell’s first, is a torn bladder of magma sealed in a shell crip’n dark as coal}{their most recent meal. Axis Deer steak on a bed of radishes.}The clock says it’s…
“Forget the drink (Jalsh has walked over to her) baby, thanks anyway, I’ll be back, I gotta go get my stuff. (he kisses: her and then their son) goodbye.”
д д д
“Well, I’m off.” “Find something fancy dear. But work easy. (Jalsh has already vanished through the doorway; Jell calls after him) Don’t tire yourself out at work!”
Belted, strapped, and frame-held on Jalsh’s back is his PrecisionPick pack. Dull as any other wristband is his Durolight. Drawn towards a common vanishing point, the common teams check-in station, men in work clothes convene from neighboring houses into bunches before joining banners. Douwoll guides the wheeled hand-made platform he moves his PrecisionPick on. A bar is shouldered by the Helgen family (whose PrecisionPicks hang from rings between each pair of men). Tred is built solid enough to carry his by hand.
With slightly longer strides than Jalsh, Kledsef keep his PrecisionPick in front of him on a dolly. “You should be mighty thankful” “What’s this for the beautiful day?” “No, for that wife you have now. Even when the days are rainy you can bask in the sunshine of her smile.” “That’s my wife you’re talking about.” “I’m complementing her. How would you have me speak?
Kledsef stops the conversation to ink his thumb. In a sweep, he daubs his thumb with dark grey ink and presses it by his name in the shift-start column. His unloaded dolly joins a pile of all the holders and transports for PrecisionPicks, in front of the wall. Junkyards are started with such scraps. Carefully, each miner goes down the rungs with an instrument that could kill every man below it with but a drop. Men who never put away the childishness of claustrophobia or nyctophobia would shred themselves bouncing off the mining-tunnel walls.
With the familiarity of shift-work (the kind that leaves less chance for a personal claim) each miner is left with his thoughts. Roiling overlapped echoes of metal, machines, and compounds reduced by force echo through tunnels, with only a rungway for sonic ventilation. Earplugs are mandatory.
Huey asked me if we could get a t.v .like they have at school. I promised him he’d have one someday. That day should be now. I’ve worked here long enough to pick up on certain things that the other workers haven’t. No one has mentioned it, but the rungs should end with a ladder so no one has to drop to the floor. Its’ small but anyone who has worked here knows uneven stones will make a man stumble and if he’s hopped down with 41 pounds of machinery the slightest stumble makes broken bones. {a short man trips on the floor after he falls from the rungs, crushed by his PrecisionPick} The ‘Picks shouldn’t even be in our hands when we’re coming down. Nebber should provide a lift or something to pull the ‘Picks up and down on. As Under Foreman I’d watch these guys and make sure they’d get treated right. Man, with the money an Under Foreman makes I’d be able to start buying high
д д д
ell I’m off.” “Meet you at the bar?” “hm-hm. I wish. I’ve gotta get home, and feed this old gal.( Treoneph pats the pig that drags his equipment behind it on a sled)”. After a chorus of goodbyes he dissolves up the hills’ trail. Twib, Kledsef, and Jalsh have lagged behind the rest of their team in conversation. “We better hurry up. The boys from Shaft 23s’ team are about here.” “Yeah I don’t wanna hear their shit about us keeping them from getting out of here.” “I don’t wanna get it from them either Twib but let’s hold off out front. There’s something I need to find out.” “(Twib glances back around the door)You hear those guys? They’re chattering like a bunch of girls.” “Someone from their team must have found a promoter.” “Naw, that shaft’s been near-dead. That’s why they put Bale’ik on it, Nebber’ll close it soon.” “What are we waiting for then? I’ve got Jell to get home to.” Kledsef laughs at Twib’s joke and Jalsh’s expense. “(Jalsh holds his hand up) Hold on. I’ll ask this guy (the first of the 23’s crew has come out.)” A man with skin tanned to cracks and shoots of white-grey hair half-hidden by a mesh-backed baseball cap is stopped by Jalsh’s hand on his overalls (which issue out sparkling turquoise to aqua dirt). “Why all the celebration?” “We’ve been happy since this afternoon when Bale’ik found Fleetrock.” From inside comes a responsive cheer “Under-Foreman-Bale’ik found Fleetrock!”
Ξ Ξ 2 Ξ Ξ
Supple crescendos push sun-sent highlights between one another, dashing peaks to drops, building troughs to dunes. Rounded mountains liquefy the valleys between them. Each valley is a belly hungry and the thick teeth around it froth with spittle. From lands tucked beneath a western horizon, ripples’ wake quakes its’ way across broken ocean-top tides. Currents darkened by depth kick up jags; in turn, sparks whisper out between the kinks to melt on surveyors who fly above the panting upheaval…
With widescreen eyes, thick hairless brows, and tight-drawn pupils Qwehpass Ick Dondritz has convinced herself that a blur far ahead is what they’re looking for. Smaller (but by far more muscular) besides the abnormal build of Qwehpass seems Otovis Lev Flamiba. Silence reigns between these judiciaries.
Both have come to fulfill their jobs. Sabzan, a recently arrested Trabanz, has escaped the custody of Alehii officers. As a ward, Qwehpass is to capture Sabzan. As an executioner, Otovis is to kill Sabzan.
turn to the Prada then I could settle these aches. Dalorma {in the center of radiance is a broad-chested comforter} would be a greater ease to these pangs than any dulling stalk. Were he here now and were that I hadn’t this charge…our babe will make all our moments together the sweeter once it’s had. But now all this searching, to be done with it! Sabzan may have been guilty. But he may have been innocent. Either way I’ll return him. Would “Qwehpass! I’ll come up with some food. Keep close to Sabzan, mark my place and signal when you’ve seen me resurface.” “I can’t” watch for you without the risk of losing Sabzan. But Otovis had fallen through the great-sprawled ocean’s surface without listening for reply.
A snap of her spine corkscrews Qwehpass’s frustrated body. Her arms are closer to a humans’ than anything else. Bony by healthy human standards, they end with smooth-topped (no nails) fingers and are held by a membrane of skin toned from teal to ocean green. Should she want, sickle-shaped bone would unsheathe from the centers of her fingers. Her breaths come through pores (water moistens pores for easier ‘halations) in the skin of her body. Her torso ends where hips usually begin with an organ (Issdugh) that bulges out, almost to a point, then tapers in, and ends with an outward-curled frill. An Issdugh’s shape nearly matches a bell or closed rose. White ovals march in contorted trails from the Issdugh’s start to its’ frill. The frill is on the clearest end of a translucent gradient. Owehpass’s Issdugh is candlewax pink save for streaks of skin-color where it meets her body.
There’re no flares on Qwehpass’s person. To signal Otovis she’ll need to move enough to catch his eyes. Sabzan has sped his flight. He has dried-out his bodies stores of blending spray. Where once there was a smudge, a distinct silhouette twists a tail franticly. Both of the before-mentioned demands placed on her are fulfilled by more violent fluttering. But such movement tires her and strains what she works to protect…
“Ugj!”
God, please keep my baby safe.
Her offspring should be fine. Still she thinks a prayer. Ferociously, Qwehpass follows Sabzan’s flight into the sharp sunlight.
Lenses layered over Qwehpass’s conjunctivae reflect sunlight which would otherwise blind her to Sabzan’s location. Whipped by the draft flapped back from Qwehpass’s feeners, tubule limbs, suckered on the underside, ended by pentagonal glommers, make Qwehpass easy to follow. Otovis found this out when he filled his outer bladder (a sack in the similitude of an island of ground-chuck sunk in a broth of pale, water adulterated, tomatoes. It is inside the Issdugh of an Alehii) to resurface. Before he even reaches his nascent, the chain-actions of: rippling off excess water, unsheathing his feeners’ feathers+flapping at a hummingbird blur return Otovis to flight. The burden of fish in his arms and secondary limbs slow him. Qwehpass will have to slow for Otovis to catch up.
a good justice system needs to run on. Just like a good parent has to run on love. Need Sabzan be executed for his crime? It’s disgusting but perhaps there’re other places he would be tolerated. Dihead could exile him, he needn’t be executed. But we need to watch the environment. The animals around us, geese, hawks, and all the others are helpless. Sabzan could easily have overpowered any of them. But did he? What evidence is there? What evidence could there ever be? Who would know if he had committed bestiality? But that’s disgusting! If he has done it with an animal then what does he think of the Alehsh? He’d hurt my babe. If not physically then by teaching her to be like him. Her? Will it be a girl? My baby isn’t an it.
“O-wuh! I want to be home!”
this isn’t what I should be stuck with=ward-duty! But I guess I’m lucky. There isn’t better paying work right now. We’ll need that for the baby. {a black pimple on the horizon}Is that an island? Does Sabzan know where he’s going? No, he couldn’t. His people don’t ever leave the air. Do they?... we’ve fed him fish so maybe he needs to stay moist too. But I don’t know what he eats. He could eat anything. Maybe he ate that bird. Could he even [mingled disgust, worry, sympathy, and hurriedness give Qwehpass a grimace] How would Dihead know? No classes have taught on the anatomy of the Trabanz. Witness testimony…it’s all so coincidental. Bevra, Gellitash, and Miv being by him? No one really pressured them to find out: why were they out so far from the Prada proper? {Sabzan’s face tipped up to glare at Otovis} He didn’t say much in his defense. But Otovis was guaranteed executioner pre-trial. I’ve never heard of an on-spot execution before. Did Sabzan even scratch his guards? I’ll find out when I get back. But by then he’ll be dead! Dihead didn’t send Otovis out he just went when we heard Sabzan escaped. They didn’t call him back either. It’s up to him I guess. “Help” me “in” my “delicacy”. I’ll help make him my delicacy. With this baby I’m even bigger than him than before. I’ll take him. I’d take him-why’m I being so bitchy! Here this stranger, just wants to help, and I’m thinking of hurting him; I’m a horrible person
“he just wants to, help me, and”
It’s alright. I gotta keep calm. It’s a good thing Otovis isn’t here. Seen like this he might send me back. He can’t send me back! Remember, he has no command of you. He may be respected by Dihead but you’re at equal levels of command. He’s so respected because he brings in so many criminals. But are they? I’ve heard rumors that Otovis is really
ה ה ה
“How’s your kid coming?” “Oh! Hey Eplusk. (Qwehpass tilted her head) Not here yet. (straightened again)” “I’m just heading over to see Rilkypra about Otovis.” “What do the Judges’ Watchers want with him?” Eplusk seared the seriousness of what he was about to say into Qwehpass. “Confidentially?” “It won’t go past my husband.” He looked like he’d scold her, tell her nothing, in seconds his features changed. “That’s reasonable. There’s rumor his work’s now illegal.” Qwehpass waited for more. “Is it so confidential you can’t give me more details than that?” “Figure it out for yourself. Surely you’ve noticed how successful he’s been as an executioner recently?” “Recently yeah but all the cases seem…shaky. (Eplusk’s face went blank) He’s rigged them!” No emotion. Qwehpass stared at her own amazed face in Eplusk’s flat eyes.
д д д
An assembly was held among many water drops that were blurred together. Curve-tipped triangles of black, blinders of a wavelet’s side, chased after smears of warm orange that bled from yellow to thin white. Deep maroon syrup smeared* up to form puddles that drooped^ beneath an ocean’s surface.
[
* as oil slinks through arteries or as thickened chicken broth requires fat bulges in the
smooth-tube-muscle it slides through
^ as thinner lines draw down from horizontal strokes of ink settling on a page or as sand
drawn through a tiny hole forms a cone wroth unhealthily elongated
]
Sporadic, fast, smooth motions weight Otovis’s bundle. A recently-made bag of seaweed kept fish in place. There were enough fish to force tears at some of the seaweed-bag’s knots. Each fish bore a tear of its’ own; sea-current strokes tickled clumps of organ gore to come out of each fish and meander through the ocean together. Otovis would wait, still despite the current, until a few mouthfuls showed up in one body. Then, a spinal twitch, flicked grabbers, and a ready claw caused another fish’s bundling.
Satisfied that he had enough fish for three, Otovis left the oceans grip: what air he had left from his last surfacing filled Otovis’s outer bladder. A blast of concussed air carved the currents above Otovis into ribbons that streamed past his upward-pushing body. The watery membrane Otovis was sheathed in built up in an isolated bump that blew apart to release him. Individualist droplets kept close to Otovis’s lead as sawdust sprays after a chainsaw. Careful to maintain his cluster of fish, Otovis rippled his skin like a dog does its’ fur≈wet clay spinning, skinned by spirals, sending sparks of setting sun as it twist that way and this. Polarized water held hues of oranges and blues while the sun threw its’ shafts so slanted.
“Ugj!”
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Far in front of her contemporary, Qwehpass stalls, then continues on but slower because lactic acid now contends with her muscles. Worst still, clouds have provided Sabzan cover in lieu of a Trabanz’s unique camouflage.
{ugly, dark clouds in a deepening sky. Charcoal peels off the distal edge of fire-warm pink left to color the clouds.} Those’re pretty but they’ll be a time sink. He can sit in there for hours. If…if he hasn’t been fed much he may be looking for food. Or need to soon. Then he can’t stay in cloud cover long. Were Otovis here, one of us could search the clouds while the other went ahead. Where is Otovis? {a form smaller but clearer to identify than Sabzans. Clouds in an otherwise empty sky} He’s moving too slow to catch up. But he saw me. He’s following…if Sabzan’s in there, he might be scared out when I fly in. Worst that could happen is if both of us flew threw and missed him. I’ll fly through to the other side-Otovis’ll have to check the clouds-I’ll fly above, then tell him to fly below-no, Otovis can’t be told anything. IfonlyIcould signal tohim! I’ll fly above anyway. He’ll figure it out. If I see {the blur of Sabzan} on the other side I’ll follow. If not. I’ll wait for Otovis to check under the clan orange pair of parallel lines blink in the sky above Qwehpass.
Otovis has signaled Qwehpass. They can communicate by projecting thoughts into a laser. But each Alesho is limited, in how much he can say via laser, by how many laser-conductive chemicals he has metabolically produced.
She turns her head up and to the left then twist to fly stomach-up, her face toward Otovis behind her. { A shifting horizon, the cloud above it, and all things on top of the backround are portrayed as black silhouettes. An orange burnt close to brown sweeps into a tan in the background. Qwehpass’s silhouette flies above the blot, stops, and spins like an untiring motor. The same is done by Otovis’s save his is below the blot.} Pale purple ellipses are called towards a vanishing point at the centers of Qwehpass’s eyes. Thin enough to have no distinguishable 3rd dimension, these glowing globules arc in the fashion of the nimblest fall leaves; united, light-sensitive molecules pulse more intensely as they gather until→ lines beam from Qwehpass, through Otovis’s pupils, into his cerebral cortex in a blinksworth of time. {Qwehpass’s silhouette flies above the cloud, waits for Otovis’s silhouette, spins now that his silhouette has gone in the cloud. Sabzan’s silhouette came out of the cloud simultaneously with Otovis’s entry.} Again, Qwehpass beams a reply.{(Otovis+ Qwehpass)’s silhouettes are already spinning in their places. The backdrop is shaded by evening. Sabzan’s silhouette streaks from the cauliflower clouds to escape but bounces a beam from Otovis’s silhouette back to him. He takes flight but Otovis overtakes him.} For the third time, a pair of pale purple lines pushes out from Qwehpass’s eyes. {Simply, Qwehpass’s silhouette pauses in front of the clouds silhouette and bobs. Otovis’s silhouette joins it while it faces the cloud-patch.}
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wasted enough of our heatstore as is” “We’ve wasted none; we needed to signal to one another.” “It was hardly an emergency, Otovis.” “How would we ever else have communicated? I couldn’t catch up to you with this (he gives their raw meal a bounce in his grasp) weighing me down.” “We didn’t need to rejoin yet. You saw where I was, we could’ve reconvened later. ” “When later? The clouds’re an obstacle. If they’re not covered constantly we lose Sabzan.” “All you had to do was trust me. If it comes down to using our heatstore to scan the night sky, every beam will matter. Your very plan was weakened by its’ explanation.” “I just thought of it. You’re mistakes” “my mistakes?” “yes, your flawed tactics (can see Qwehpass’s about to talk) prompted me to make a good plan. Without that communication we’d’ve never come so quickly to a plan. And this is better’n anything you could do on your own.” “On my own I would have gone straight through! You could have seen –nevermind. We’re here now. As planned?” “Yes.” Otovis flutters his feeners less frequently so he hovers, in slow descent, at a level lower than the cloud. “Hold.” “Hold? You’ve been ward too long.” “When you’ve finished your heat store, or I mine, let’s meet to eat.” “Sure. You don’t want a fish now? “ “Toss me –no. Now’s to work. I’ll eat later (Qwehpass rubs her abdomen)”.
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AST TIME, I’M NOT UNDER YOUR COMMAND! YOU, HAVE, NO, AUTHORITY!” “I need NO AUTHORITY to tell YOU, YOU’RE a damned FOOL!” I-mmmmm foolish? Ye-wait. Look! (Qwehpass points to a nearby island, Otovis’s eyes follow) Sabzan…” They watch as he free-falls past them, some ways away. He must have come from clouds higher above. Before hurtling too close to the tree-tops Sabzan swooshes, regains his flight-control and glides by strong tail-strokes beneath a canopy so thickly tiered he can’t yet see the ground. A pair of mountains separate where Otovis and Qwehpass last sighted Sabzan from dried-clay houses.
ה ה ה
Sabzan couldn’t have left the cloud quick enough to be out-of-sight. So Otovis and Qwehpass knew he was in there. Each Alehii revolved, careful to be aware of as much space as possible.
Qwehpass has no breasts. The front of her torso is smoother than Otovis’s and a well-fed peach color. Her face is a blander, less colorful tan. Because she’s pregnant, 6 icy silver minerals have grown out of her back. Skin around each craggy peak grips the minerals equivalent to how gums shore up around teeth. Her ears are snubbed at the top, they reach a tip then curve back sharply along the necks’ nape-facing side. Feeners are like fins. From her ribs to her Issdugh, on the left and right of her elongated torso, are rows of articulated appendages. Those closest to her chest would take the most fists to match in size. Drag-ratio is lowered because each pair of feeners further from the first (those near her ribs) is small enough to hide in the formers’ wake. Sheath-able feathers are part of each feener. When flapped to a hummingbird blur the feeners, with red-tipped sun yellow feathers out, allow an Alehii to direct herself through the air. Internal bladders of body-produced gases control how high the Alehsh float. Her shoulders almost make a Y with Qwehpass’s spine.
Also breastless, Otovis’s torso is contoured by muscles and ringed by red. His torso-front color is a peach that draws more on orange. It smears before his primary skin-gradient (teal to ocean green) with a buffer-color (red) which blends at the edges with each other color. A very pale, near-white-peach is shown by the pigments of Otovis’s face. The feathers of his feeners are gold, ended by tips so starkly red their texture is hazy. Red streaks come from the pinched-in section of skin between his Issdugh and torso. Pigments violet are the deepest to blend with the red complexioned portions of Otovis’s skin. His primary skin gradient carries on over Otovis’s Issdugh. As Qwehpass’s Issdugh is tipped in great translucency, so is Otovis’s but his Issdugh is without white spots. If anything shames Otovis about his body, it is the fact that Qwehpass’s body is larger, freakishly sized for an Alesha.
A wounded man sunk lower to the ground with each twist of the Alehsh. Their synchronous shifts made it believable that the winding of Alehii drove the man further from a hale stand. In the wake of his routed presence, all things wore the burns of a flames’ parasitic roots.
d best of all, the tenderness of them. Were the baby already born, even he could eat those L. Chubs. Otovis is down there munching on his share already. Atleast I would be.
“ O ! ”
Qwehpass puts her chin back down.
I’ve got to stop thinking about L. Chubs. And the seaweed they’re wrapped in. {a sky becoming as empty of color as it is of movement}he hasn’t come out yet. Otovis would beam for help if he had. Would Otovis beam for help? There’s no glory (when we’re the only ones to know) in catching Sabzan alone. He may think he can anyway. He’s not experienced at tracking or catching criminals. Maybe he has-if he was chasing after Sabzan he wouldn’t really have a safe chance to signal. But I’d see them if they went out from under the cloud. So no worries. I would probably even hear Sabzan if he came out on this side, even with my back turned…C’mon Qweh it’s not as if you have the sharpest ears. If he did sneak behind me though he’d see my hexbergite. To an Alesho that means nothing but, Sabzan supposedly raped a goose. Would the sight prompt an attack? {empty bowels and goosy skin}No, he…he probably didn’t even commit the crime. How could he? Dalorma couldn’t {the privy part of Dalorma } and the Trabanz’s Aleshos aren’t so much smaller {the frame of a male Trabanz to the right of an Alesho’s frame} than the Alehsh’s Aleshos. He probably doesn’t know any more about an Alesha’s body parts than I, then we do theirs’. What’s Dalorma doing right now? {An Alesho, with better-defined but smaller muscles than Otovis’s, flies parallel half-an arms-length away, clear iris-faucets sparkling}
“Haughhh…”
Why not just call this bust and go home? I’m ready to see Dalorma again. After tonight, if Sabzan hasn’t left the cloud, I’ll search it. I don’t wanna wait around, away from civilization, so Otovis can make some money killing an innocent Alesho. He probably is innocent. I should probably report Otovis. But I can’t let him know I distrust him
Sunspawn’s rear-guard rallied, beyond sight, with their comrades. Heavy Clydesdale hooves were muffled enough by distance to reveal the milling of burros, beyond a man’s count, to an upturned ear.
Qwehpass joined Otovis, who had already started, in searching the then newly dark sky. {clouds}no return. no return. no return. {waves}{waves}{clouds} Each time a beam hits something dense enough it returns to the eye that sent it. Otovis and Qwehpass know what’s in the darkness. Though there heads twist fast enough to give a metalhead pause (and Otovis tolerates the hot pain of sending beams before his lenses remoisten) they can’t cover much of the sky. Beams allow an Alehii to see farther than normal. Unless asleep, the Alehsh metabolize sunlight for their beams. But they’re limited by light-sources and the time it takes to produce the chems needed for beams. Otovis was the first to run cold. He considered what to do when Qwehpass broke through the cloud.
“Toss me a fish.” “Get back to your post!” “I’m not under your authority. Don’t command me again; now, (an expression set on Otovis’s face like smoke-trail bellydancers slothfully becoming streamers to fireplace logs which’ve yet to light) will you give me the food or will you make a pregnant Alesha hunt?” Hurriedly, Otovis dropped the fish-pack in her arms. “(slowly moving up as he spoke) I’ll search the cloud. You can’t see under its’ shadow so fly somewhere where you’ll see when Sabzan comes out.”
Slowed by the cold-thickened dew dappled upon his skin, Otovis came out of the cloud to find his half of the L. Chubs waiting for him. “I take it you never saw Sabzan?” “Right.” “Then, (Otovis took the bundle) he must have escaped.” “He could have moved when he heard you.” “Its’ too dense to hear anything in there. And he couldn’t keep stable in that cold.” “How do you know he’d fall? Their flight’s different from ours.” “Executioners are taught more about anatomy than you’ve learned in school.” Otovis slopped down a fish. “That’s it then. He could’ve left under the cloud’s shadow or at any time after twilight. After this we should head back home.” “No, that’s not what we’re gonna do. You request more guards from the Dihead while I keep searching further out.”
Maybe it was a pregnant moodswing. Or incremental irritation. The suspicions and distrust of distant memories or an offspring of pride. But anger was struck in Qwehpass by those orders and Otovis is cold, hungry, and wearied enough to return the fury. “OTOVIS! FOR THE LAST TIME, I’M NOT UNDER YOUR COMMAND! YOU, HAVE, NO, AUTHORITY
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It’s startling. The transition between the oceans’ drafts and those above a tropical island. Most of the island is tropical, some semi-arid, with a small cluster, small by comparison to a colossal land mass (Qwehpass and Otovis may as well be seagulls for the amount their bodies stand out, flying towards the dryscape before them), of houses hidden besides twin mountains. Much of an oceans’ air treads toward this island, and the tiny neighbors behind it. Because their destination matched that of the airs’ will, the Alehii were able to quickly come above the patch of leaves Sabzan had descended through; trying to control their descent, keep it stable, tests the quickness and temperance of each Alesho’s feener coordination. Drafts of hot air billow and bellow, announcing their presence, jostling Otovis and Qwehpass, tilting them, twisting their phalanges in frustrated currents, rippling whatever fat lays beneath their skin, diverting a feeners’ feathers’ direction, in its’ announcement making it known that it will be violent when persons move against it. They’re nearly at the tree tops. Sporadically, a squad of trees will bob their heads, delivering squatter-birds to flight. Taken together, the tress look like a den of snakes, warming against the mountains. Their scales rattle winks worth of sun from one row of shutters to the next, linked as bent ‘V’s. Grids of diamonds and triangles, lit patches, pass by Qwehpass and Otovis, riding across smooth curves to splash on batches of overlapping leaves. Through trees that wipe their sweat on flyer-bys, Otovis and Qwehpass plunge. Qwehpass is writhing through a cano5 nails sink into her back.
Ξ Ξ 3 Ξ Ξ
Mellow muted blue drops layers of light, on Jalsh Ze Muhnter, without a sound. Tumultuously, he propagates folds through the covers of his bed. Jell Dravire Manscrest Dustwallow becomes fully awake when a chilly toe pokes her ankle. “rhjbg”. “Sorry honey. ” “hu-ulp. Why’re you turning so much tonight?(Jell is now upright)” “just having trouble sleeping.” “Don’t worry about Bale’ik’s claim. He hasn’t been officially named has he?” “Not yet.” “Maybe he won’t be. You still could claim something better. Fleetrock’s not the priciest claim to make. Nor is it the most industrially useful material. (She turns and lays her right arm across Jalsh’s torso, then she uses her pointer finger to tap his nose on ‘you’) I learned that from you. (if Jalsh’s face was told to lighten its’ expression, Jell hasn’t read it) His mine’s almost fallow dear. We’ve heard (she flaps her hand, loose-wristed, between the centers of their chests with a tone meant to bring him to share her temperament) that the mine Bale’ik works on will be closed soon. This Fleetrock is probably the last great-yield it has in it. Your mine’s finished a vein of steel just”…“3 weeks ago” “3 weeks ago! And how long did it take to finish that vein?”…“16 months” “Dear! That is a lot of metal.…it was worth more than the Fleetrock will be wasn’t it?” “yes baby it was.…..but what matters isn’t just what is dug up but when. The guy who claimed first strikezone on the steel in our tunnel got nothing for it. The usual bonus and that’s all. Now’s a time when new jobs need filled. The Foreman wants to see some skill before he takes on an Under Foreman but he’s not going to wait forever. He may just take the first guy. And right now, Bale’ik’s the first and only guy. I could find something tomorrow but if they’ve already hired him I won’t get his spot no matter what I find.” “Dear, no one will be hired tomorrow.” “I know but…if I don’t get this, this time, who knows? The immigration could cut down. Maybe there’s not enough jobs for all the people comin’ in. Or the next round could be years from now. I mean, we start saving, maybe Huey will even be able to get into college..but that’s not happening as things are now. (Jalsh looks to his left, into empathetic eyes) I don’t want him to run out of options. You know? I like this place. I do. If I wasn’t mining, I’d be spelunking for a hobby. But every now and then, I want to take you somewhere nice (a sympathetic pout) you know? And with what’s in striking distance I can’t do that now. Now maybe, maybe I’ll make a title like Bentmorisson-whatever and own half this place. But for most guys? (flippancy creeps in) that ain’t happenin’. (flippancy’s evaporating)I know you say you don’t mind so much baby but, maybe Huey’s girl won’t be so understanding. Or maybe he won’t even get a girl. Who’s there around here? And if he falls for some thing in his class –they’re not gonna wanna move here. If I can get promoted soon then Huey maybe he’ll be able to go to (sighed out with a what-if!) college. Then he’d be striking some big numbers. He could cover us visiting him once in awhile. Maybe hole us up someplace on-island so we don’t have to live out our last year’s on the Oldies Isle… ” “(Jell snuggles her head into the cleft of Jalsh’s chest) You don’t have to take me anywhere. (she looks up with white stars standing against the blue on her teeth and eyes) You know I’m from the Spreadlands, we didn’t want to get out much. (She props herself up on the bed using her elbow) what we have here (she places her pointer on the right side of his chest) is what I wanted. (Shakes her head) places aren’t what makes our time together great, the love is. When Huey has a girl she’ll, well if a girl’s dating Huey we wouldn’t want it to be for his money. Besides, Huey’s 4!” “I know, I’m just looking down the tunnel. I wouldn’t want him getting his heart broken. But he doesn’t have to be a millionaire. If he just has enough to have fun sometimes, then he’ll be like the people in Midsalat. That’s where he’d get his girl from.” Jalsh had his arms in v’s, propping up his head against the bed’s backboard. Now his left arm is extended around his wife. A cloud must have drifted above the house because the blue has been cut off. Shade remains. “Are you going to sleep now cold-feet? (a playful tone)” “Yeah I’m ready.” Jalsh kisses Jells lips, neck, and tries to sleep in her loving embrace.
ה ה ה
Then the line was reeled back, nasal whining came from the tight-wound cords that bound in loops around the inside of a fishing lines’ pencil sharpener, they were scratched together like styrofoam and pianowire, dloóp, dloóp, the line sagged and bounced its’ slack in the tense water-top, liquid racers dived off the anti-apex of the line, dull weighty metal shook on an x-axis and spun on a z, left then right, right then left, by a fog-filtered (on this isle the cold needed for fog was rare, it was the earliest morning-time, when some men awake before the world has left its’ night) light a wet hook showed highlights of sweat on its’ dull-grey bone. “Nope. Just the motion of the boat.” “I swear there ain’t been nothin’ catched in this water from before we were born. My daddy would be fishin’ out here and what he come home with but a breath of beer?” “Maybe the fish was just quick-like. Got away with the worm before it was hooked.” “Or the slimy thing wiggled off.” “(mocking babying voice) you need help setting your hooks? Hah-ha!” “Heh. He ain’t never been good with hooks.” “Hey Chujjin? I remember, when you were drunk enough to prick yourself with your hook.” A round of laughs. “He was like, he was like this” Fhmgro set his pole down, his eyes squinted together, mouth drooped’n loose, in his left hand was an invisible worm, in the right a hook, wobbling kept his vision unsteady, his hands swept past each other. Chujjin laughs with everyone else. Fhmgro had his hands reset, he dropped his head to level his eyes with his occupied fingers, his pupils went from one pair of fingers to the other with breath coming through his mouth, with his jaw closed a tongue-tip squirted to the left side, shaky hands move toward each other by millimeters, the right jumped to hit the left. “Dammnit! Óòó, (he’s rolled back on his buttocks, feet off the deck-boards, right hand holding left) Fellas! (he looks at several, lips and lids open, long enough for them to chuckle as he speaks) We gotta go back. I need a band-aid or something. I been hurt man!” Along with everyone else, Fhmgro laughs.
“What we need, is something to draw them out.” Donaree poured a little of his beer past the railing. “I think that kills them Donaree.” “Yeah, it kills ‘em.” “Nahw, it’ll jes draw them in some. They like that. Tastes better than what they’re swimming in.” Donaree unwrapped one of his sandwiches and started taking it apart. “Man, are you gonna dissect that or you gonna eat that. Cuz I’ve eaten mine, and I could eat another.” “The fish like this too.” Donaree had let some ham shredded between his fingernails fall into the water below. “Man! Your’re feeding them for free. I don’t want that. When one of those fish comes up for a bite, I want it biting on a hook. Not on some fish-food you done sprinkled out there.” “That’s his sandwich he sprinkled.” “I know I seen it. He’s making it fish food.” “Its’ my food I’ll make it what I want.” “Your wife made that? And you’re not eating it? Damn, some men just aren’t appreciative.” “Didn’t your Lihndy make you a sandwich?” “No. Had to make my own.” “That’s harsh.” “Says the single man.” “Mine weren’t no saint, I ain’t sayin that (its’ why she divorced me) but when we were married, I did not. Come. Here. Without my sandwich.” “Will you three quit chattering away over there. Scaring off all the fish.”-Seb.
“HHHhhhhhh…p’ch.p’ch.p’ch”-Berahky, yawning, smacking his lips, and snapping his tongue against his palate, underneath his hat. Only the creaks and crones of waves rocking boards to sleep gave voice to the boats’ living room. A television, turned off, joined other appliances, furniture, and decorations in the walls’ shadow. His gut an ostrich egg to scale with an ostrich the height of a hotel, Berahnky was a few scores of pounds from passing Bale’iks’ hammocks’ load bearing capacity. Other members of the 2nd prize-crew, his fishing buddies, didn’t mind him sleeping, as they did Travalskee, because he didn’t snore. In his dreams, Berahky was the dethroned prince of the fish, returning to take back his fathers’ crown from a wicked counselor, in a school of serious (if seriousness is measured by frowns) fish ready to recapture the corrupted beer-can kingdom.
On deck, Armud shifted aside clusters of ice, in vain; all the food in the coolers had been eaten, water and ice made the containers look all the emptier with reminders of what had once been there. “Maybe, it’s about time we head back.” “I’m ready to quit. If everyone else is ready to go…” “Yeah I’m done fishing. Ain’t gonna catch anything…” “Hey Donaree and y’all! You ready to go?” “Yeah!” “Lets head on back then.”
Bale’ik took ahold of the wheel and took her toward dock. From in-cabin, awakened by the engine, Beharky came on deck yawning. “What time’s it?” here and there a left hand lifted up, Pydill beat those with accurate watches to saying “
Soon they were in port and off boat.
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Diamonds, the very same kind mined in such places, coated the ends of quad-drill-tips. A primary whir of the tips just to make sure they’re working then they’re plunged into the face/end of a tunnel. Their thick bright-yellow wires fisheyed to the ceiling, lights doused the stone in illumination, clear and fake. Chunks of rock were gargled by the drills than swallowed into shells. As soon as a shell was full the drills would stop spinning, no matter how hard a finger pressed their button, until the shell was emptied again. Chujjins’ Tetrapick let ground dust spill out of its’ throat, froth from gargling. At any pause, when put in light, the ends of each drill-head shone like an expensive wedding-ring. These drills looked as if parts from handled flash-lights, electric egg-beaters, and miniguns had combined in the future. An alloy disc grew each long drill-neck from its’ flat face. A secondary ring, with an edge that bulged as opposed to the formers’ smooth rim, came almost to an edge against the sides of the drill-holding disc. Made of plastic, the third ring was thicker and colored black. Plastic polymer formed the double-grilled (for ventilation) piece behind the third ring. Along the rest of the tools body was the handle held while operating it. On the underside, a piece jutted out to suck up most of the loose dirt, it shaped like a curveless cesta. At the center of a Tetrapicks’ square back, cords came out and plugged into power cells, hung from a miners’ hip. Power cells were designed with more aesthetic worth than what they powered. A double-ended (no opening) test tube shaped piece of the power cell lay at its’ center. This piece curved past the square faces of the power cell. Inside could be seen a solution that glowed, two liquids split between similitudes of water, wax, vodka, sugar, flame retardant, and egg white followed a course like rain as membranes. When broken, no team member could fix his equipment; patented by Robcay Petone; though invisible beneath their outer layers, Tetrapicks had enough parts to drive a Dutchman mad.
Outside of the tunnel, but still watching the job site, stood Bale’ik. Here were his men. He had worked for years, not boasting, but still making pervasively evident that he was the most skilled worker on the crews he was put on, when it came to preserving goods. One miner may cut out a healthy section of wall and take it back to be shipped off-island, before the useless minerals had even been physically separated from the good stuff, let the refinery boys, chemicals, and machines do most of the work. Another miner would take a section of great-yield material and split it so he could acutely pick the worst of the outer skin of dirt using powerless tools. Bale’ik didn’t need to cut open a section of wall to know what lay within it. He had an idea from study of the rock. There were patterns in the way certain substances worked through earth, sometimes the tried-and-usually-right patterns failed and he would hit something he didn’t mean to but usually, Bale’ik managed to take more dust off an otherwise unaltered body of great-yield mineral than he kept off his own. Slighter disturbances to the way rocks sat were Bale’ik’s style of mining. It took longer to perform than most of his peers but crafted finer results. With less power being used by his Precisionpick, Bale’ik could continue working long after most other miners were tired or out of juice. Using less force in his mining meant less particles chafed the air. Being able to see what he drilled more clearly than other miners, Bale’ik found it easier to analyze the rock: see it, think about it, and propose what lay behind it. Accumulated time memorizing a section of rock, imagining what lay behind it, drilling to find out, and repeating familiarized Bale’ik with the stones he drilled. By the end of his shift he did his best work, having come closer to figuring out a veins’ pattern (sometimes knowing it) he could work faster, study less, and keep the accuracy that placed his work above that of his peers.
A skilled miner and an able crew-lead are quite separate things. To prove himself, Bale’ik was offered a four-man crew of tunnel-starters. Starting a tunnel took none of Bale’ik’s finesse but it took all of a crew-leads’ schedule management. Crews would be split between tunnels or one rotated from a finished job to a soon-to-form tunnel. But before its’ formation a man assigned to a tunnel had no work=no money=deplenishing foodstocks. Crew-heads overseeing the start of a tunnel have the easiest jobs of any heads, they watch the least men and their men have the easiest work. Sensitive digs may require a head to literally watch over team-members shoulders as they dig to make sure they don’t damage something expensive. Whoever starts a tunnel doesn’t have to worry about what he hits, it has already been sounded out, the distance until something important will be measured in the wall. A tunnel-starting crew stops there. They don’t even need to reinforce the tunnel they dig, another team comes in after them to do this. But of all the crew heads, a tunnel-starter will be the most threatened if he fails. Bale’ik didn’t fail. He worked alongside his four underlings (anxious to finish, afraid of missing the deadline) an unusual effort for a crew-head to make. His first head assignment resulted in Bale’ik’s promotion for a tunnel started in 7/8ths the time allotted. From there came a series of further promotions…
Eventually, Bale’ik was head of the third prize crew. Of the prize crews, which handled the most delicate mining, the third was the least-often used. When the head of the second prize crew retired, Bale’ik’s job became as satisfying as it ever would. The nuances of where to mine, what positions to assign, when to have a shift, and the like matched Bale’ik’s caliber much better than simple tunnel-starting.
Late in life, Bale’ik realized he didn’t enjoy mining. What satisfied him in pondering a wall mixed with worthless compounds and pricey minerals wasn’t the completion of a problem or the exercise of his mind. A skill beyond his peers was what he relished in. But the enjoyment of that came to wane as he saw only one position above his left that would use such skill. Crewmembers had enough know-how to shift the earth nearly as well as he. The proportionate usefulness of Bale’ik’s talent dropped and his interest in mining followed. To minimize his involvement even further, Bale’ik assigned Fhmgro (the member of the team others had disrespected the most) as his Under Head. Bale’ik was paid several fold Fhmgro’s salary while Fhmgro did most of his work. From then on, Fhmgro took on most of a head’s duties while Bale’ik sought different ways to enjoy himself.
Bale’ik discovered the delights of Gods’ creations. Far different from the air of a mine-shaft, otherwise stagnate aside from drilled-up debris, jungles lulled Bale’ik toward them, in the form of tours, taken by tourist and natives with newly acquired time, families or money. Dangerous sections of the jungle, where hungry stomachs waited behind teeth and camouflage, weren’t traversed by tour-groups. A howler monkey here, beetles that shone with the exoskeleton complexions of metals Bale’ik had seen, swarms of bees any color but yellow, mushrooms that stunk of corpses…the jungle was a buffet of delightful sense-fodder, mostlySunfamiliar to Bale’ik. Passion for the exciting life of the jungle filled Bale’ik with a want to revel with other people, to say to someone else “didja see that!?”
Invitations to a jungle tour came to the homes of every member of the 2nd prize crew. Optionally attendable pre-paid for visits to
After work on a Monday, an assembly was called. Bale’ik asked his crew members “what shift-time would y’all like the most?” Everyone could think of something they’d like to do in the afternoon and evening so shifts moved from night time to a morning too early to cross any other crew. Any time in a mine has the same lighting. Different members of the crew began having Bale’ik out to join them and a few buds fishing. Soon, Bale’ik had bought a boat big enough for his whole crew to fish off of comfortably. It became common practice to fish the first morning of a work-week, atleast. Hanging out at one of the towns’ few bars was a habit Bale’ik had broken because it was looked down upon by crew-heads. But he took it up again to hang out with his new friends, his crew.
Fhmgro cracked his back while leaving the tunnel. “Awe, (inhaled between teeth) ssssss, that’s better. Head Bale’ik.” “What?” “The boys have found a very unusual shape in the tunnel. They didn’t want to mess with it without knowing what it was. We were wondering: will you take a look at it?” “(he walks and Fhmgro follows) describe it to me.” “You know when you’re swimming, and you catch air in your pants –thentheair, comes out in one big bubble-cloud?” “Go on.”
“It looks like the edge of one of those. There’s something behind it –you can see the color come through. The dirt across it has to be thin or something ‘cause its’ translucent. ” And indeed it was. “Have everyone else leave the tunnel”.
Bale’ik was on his haunches, watching the wall. “Got everyone else out of the tunnel.” “You too. Leave.” Questions don’t sound out from Fhmgro. Echoes of boot-bottoms serve as the orchestra to Bale’ik’s study. For long enough to let silence settle he stares at the wall. Then he reaches out and gently wipes his hands across the bulkhead that gave crew-men halt. Once as a boy, for fun, Bale’ik peeled the shell off an egg. He’s reminded of the resulting sight by watching the wall. Pressure has kept it compacted, like a snowball, but it’s tense enough to pop. It’s a gas bubble. Some of the gasses which build up under the earth aren’t very harmful. A miner who pops a bubble full of this or that might be knocked off his feet or have his hair flung back then nothing more. But other gases explode. Some are corrosive or poisonous. There are plenty that will kill a whole crew and render a tunnel too dangerous to ever mine again. Bale’ik can’t tell what kind this is. Thank God it wasn’t popped. He has a good crew.
“Go home. Until you hear from me you’re on leave. This will need an appraiser.”
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Nervous concern crept through Bale’ik’s body but he had faith in the friend he was about to call. 567 (535) 776-3856 Brrrr. Brrrr. Brrrr. Brrr”Hello?” “Watmihnell?” “Yes and to whom do I speak?” “This is Bale’ik.” “Hey! Its been a while since I heard from you.” “Yeah, been busy.” “Me too. So what have you been up to?” “Same-old same-old mostly. We just cleared out a section of Musta roots.” “Oo that is very delicate work.” “I have a good team. They could handle it.” “So what’re you calling about.” “Today the team found some bubbles.” …“how’d that happen?” “Imaging brought up something strange I didn’t recognize last week so I told my Under Head to have the team stop before tapping into it. What I had seen was the bubbles.” “What’s in them? Canyou tell?” “That’s where I was hoping you would help me, I can’t tell, and you’re the best appraiser.” “You don’t know them all, there’re some pretty good ones” “Watmihnell you are the best. I’d like you to check out these bubbles, try to find out what they are.” “Yeah, sure. ” “Can you do it tomorrow?” “Right now I’m working on distinguishing between to minerals of similar cleavage, texture, and coloration that have grown next to each other. I won’t be done with this job before next Wednesday. Are you sure you don’t want me to recommend you to another appraiser?” “That depends. How will you tell which of the rocks is which?” “What rocks?” “The ones you’re working with now.” “O. Testing each piece for hardness will take too long so I’ve designed a vat that will separate them according to what acids they’re tolerant or susceptible to.” “And you’re testing all the minerals harvested? “Yes.” “Won’t that ruin them?” “O no. It’s funny you mentioned it, this teams’ Head was worried about the same thing! After the minerals are separated I can neutralize the acids and separate from them any sediment/vapors. Then there’s a drying process which the Petone Think Tank sells a machine for. I don’t know the details but it seems to melt then solidify whatever fragments are placed in it.” “Robcay Petone designed it? It seems like he never sleeps anymore.” “I don’t think Robcay actually designed it. He just runs the think tank.” “What does running it consist of?” “He funds whatever’s done there, screens applicants, organizes teams, helps people file patents, and smoothes out any design problems the engineers are stumped with.” “It sounds like there’s nothing he can’t make work. You guys have kept in touch?” “Yes, we’ve kept in touch. Robcay was actually letting me know about some of his disappointments the other day. He says there’s some great ideas the men down there have had but, he just can’t get them to work. He said the hardest project for him to call ‘bust’ was this coal-recycler. He thought it would work, but he didn’t have the money to do a dry-run and keep all the other teams supplied…so have you decided if you’ll wait until next Wednesday?” “You’ve convinced me to. Do you have my number?” “No! I do not. If you’ll give me a second, I can get a pen and paper.” “I’ll wait.” Papers rustled through over a phone line. “somewhere…by the paperweight, I had just been taking notes…maybe in the computer-drawer…You know what? I’m sorry but I don’t think I actually have a pen at this moment. Is there another way I can contact you?” “Yeah when you’re off your current job check in at Nebber’s Ardahi HQ. They’ll have my name listed as Head of the second prize crew. It was nice talking with you again Watmihnell.” “You too Bale’ik. I’ll get your number and call when this job’s over.” “Alright, talk with you then.” “Bye”.
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Watmihnell set down a coffee-cup of Bai Hao Yin Zhen that no longer steamed. “567 (535) 775-7697” with a flicker, his Eagle® monitor turned on. A plain Navy blue to sky blue, grading from the center, with an inch of orange striped horizontally across the middle, passed as a default screen. Thoughts of buying a new one came to Wamihnell as he watched white lines (that shouldn’t have been there) slide past each other as they cycle horizontally across his Eagle® monitor. Buwoop. Buwoop. “Bale’ik speaking.” “Bale’ik, this is Watmihnell, I’m calling to let you know that the job was finished today.” “You’re ready to examine the bubbles?” “, I could but I’d like to take the night off.” “Go ahead. Meet me at the 62nd tomorrow at
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A fine dust powdered Watmihnell’s fingers after he swept them over the tunnels end. He looked at the sparkling grains rubbed across finger-lines. Taken from a jacket pocket, held in his left hand against his right eye, an eye-glass reveals nothing significant in the earth around the bubble. Leaned against the wall, Bale’ik watches, breath shallow, waiting. The other slaps dirt from his fingers and turns around. “I don’t recognize anything important about the compounds around the bubble. That means the gas can’t penetrate through this wall.” When Bale’ik was sure Watmihnell hadn’t learned anything else worth sharing he asked “how are you going to tell what it is?” Watmihnell looked at Bale’ik, pulled out a thin metal tube with a rim that curves into two sharp points at an end, a 45, a hollow ball with three squat tubes of one piece with its’ center in a t-shape (the tubes on opposite sides have their own switchvalv٭es), a leather-cased set of sampling tubes٭, and puts them all together. “I am going to pierce it with this (he holds up his assemblage). You’ll have to leave the tunnel until I’m done.” “That doesn’t sound smart, piercing the bubble. Why can’t I be in here?” “Because when I pierce the bubble I will be doing something, that isn’t smart; it’s Nebber company policy that as few lives as possible are endangered, Heads aren’t even allowed in unstable tunnels.” Bale’ik already knew that. “ Besides, nothing is gained from you watching me collect samples of the gas except a risk to your own life.” “Watmihnell, (Bale’ik gives him as touchy-feely a look as he’ll give any man) be careful, and, if it seems like it’s poisonous run out of the tunnel.” “Thank you Bale’ik. (Watmihnell claps him on the shoulder) You’re a good friend. This is probably, the most dangerous test I have ever run, but I’ve been doing these types of things for a long time so..(he raises the collection device as a salute) here’s to me not dieing.” “See you outside man.” Bale’ik thinks how he’s glad he didn’t mention that if the gas’s lethal it’ll probably kill Watmihnell. Watmihnell thinks how he’s glad he didn’t mention that he has never sampled anything potentially lethal before.
[٭The tubes of one piece with the ball which form the head of a T are each stopped. A paper-thin metal disk is welded on their insides. There’s a single piece cut out of it, a quadrilateral with curved sides, the shortest side is closest to the discs’ center, parallel sides adjacent to the shortest are the same length, curving away from one another as they approach the outermost edge. Closer to the ball’s heart in each T-head-tube than the fixed disc are two more disks, matching the first in all other qualities, that can be rotated. Attached to the secondary disk is a metal panel connected to a ring within the tube. On a separate ring that lies further out is the tertiary disks’ ring. The panels of both rings have rectangles punched out of them. Both rings are closer to the T-head-tubes openings than the discs.
٭When a sampling tube is inserted, its’ lip leaves no personal space between the primary disc, itself, and the tube walls for air to escape.. There’s one hole in the lip of the sampling tube that matches the holes in the three discs. Turning the sampling tube will lock it into place. A half-capsule of metal with a spring on its’ inside is part of the sampling tube (on the side of the tube opposite the lips’ opening) and makes a distinct clinking noise when it locks into the two holes of the panels. A firm half turn aligns all three discs’ holes with that of a sampling tube, allowing air an escape path. Ok, not really an escape path, but atleast the sampling tube’s the furthest from home the air has gone. To reseal the tubes...Rectangular holes (in the two tubes making the head of the T) have bars across them. A hollow, metal, rectangular, prism serves as a button because it has an oval hole just big enough to fit around the bar. A spring between the bar and the buttons outside-facing end keeps it from slipping in the panels’ path. Red lines on the outsides of the T’s-head tubes (from the button to their edge) and sampling tubes show where the button and lock are. when the former line up, so do the latter. When the button is pressed as far in as it will go, the sampling tube locks its’ lip and is released from the T-head tube. ٭The button pushes in the lock which in turn pushes into a magnet attached to a metal sampling-tube hole-cover. The magnet overpowers the force of the spring, ensuring that the sampling tube lock no longer juts out far enough past the tube proper to lock into panels. So, with one button push, a sampling tube can be removed without the risk of breakage or a release of gas.
٭This design avoids disc-holes rolling into place to allow gas to leak out with disk redundancy and grooves in the rings+corresponding T-head tube walls that resist motion. Secondary and tertiary disc holes must be as far from the primary discs’ hole as possible before a sampling tube can be removed. The methods of sampling tube release and sealing are one and the same, ensuring the former does not happen before the latter.]
In a single thrust, Watmihnell pierced the bubble. “Hhaaûgh…”. The prick didn’t pop it. Test tubes on each side of the T-head were half-turned. Twenty seconds went by on Watmihnell’s watch. He turned each tube ½ way again, pressed a button, and put them away. In a leather case, reminiscent of what triangle beaters are held in, Watmihnell keeps his sampling tubes. On the left were ones he has yet to use. On the right were the used ones. Carefully, he turned the 45 to tilt downward; every piece performed a 180. The last two tubes are filled. To make it as little an obstacle as possible, and avoid a situation in which the balls’ weight leans out the puncture-tube, Watmihnell slid the puncture tube into the bubble, to the hilt.
“By God man, I thought I would hear you screaming from acid burns at any second.” “I thought I held your confidence.” In that statment, Watmihnell let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had held. “You did before, and you do more now. What’re the results?” “All I did was collect some samples. Once I’ve run them through some test I’ll get back to you with what’s in that bubble. In the meantime, treat this mine like it’s sealed.” “See you again sometime Watmihnell.” “And I you Bale’ik. Goodbye.” “Bye.”
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Bai Hao Yin Zhen granules nearly chased the water they’d flavored past Watmihnell’s teeth. “567 (535) 775-7697” as it had nearly a month ago, Watmihnell’s Eagle® monitor turned on. But this monitor was new and worked well; it turned on silently, smoothly, to bathe the room in a blue light. Buwoop. “Hello? Who’s this?” “Bale’ik it’s Watmihnell, the tests are finished.” “Watmihnell? I didn’t realize how long those took.” “I could have hurried the processes some, but I wanted to make sure I did this correctly.” “What did your test turn up?” “…not a thing. Taken together, the results of the test don’t match any gas I know of. I ran some test repeatedly when the results excluded gases I knew but the results came up the same. I checked with some appraisers who have worked with gases before but none of them have seen one like this either. I wouldn’t try to mine around there.” “Is it deadly?” “Most plant life I tested on seemed to grow healthier because of it. Animals didn’t seem bothered by it, not even amphibians. It isn’t poisonous or acidic.” “Will it burn?” “That’s not something I tested for (not really safe). But it very well could be inflammable.” “Nothing conclusive then.” “Nothing conclusive. But I’d put a request into Nebber to close your job.” “I was hoping you would say it was deadly.” “Why?” “While you were working on the gas I decided to try to pass the job off to the 1st prize crew so my guys could get back to work. But the Foreman kept the 1st crew in their place and us in ours. He wants the gas bubble gotten by if it isn’t deadly.” “Nebber’s office might turn that over.” “Thanks for checking it out Watmihnell. How much do I owe you?” “It’s free.” “No, no, how much do I owe you?” “Don’t worry about it.” “I’m going to leave some money at your house.” “It’ll end up back at yours’; your money’s no good here.” “Say you appraised a gas bubble for someone else, how much would you charge them?” “Business dealings are private.” “A-hah! I’ll see you around man…” “And I you” “and you’ll see my money” “-f” Whatever Watmihnell was going to say was cut off by the receiver.
Bale’ik knew that alienating the foreman would only hurt him in the long run=worse assignments and no promotion. His boys would just have to handle digging around the bubble…
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“Take your sweet, fucking, time. Do not. Chisel. I don’t want to see any of this (Bale’ik uses the flat side of one spike to hammer the point down on another.) None of that. You fuck up once, and you’ve just killed. Everybody. (In a near-gun shape, Bale’ik’s right hand punctuated “just killed. Everybody”.) This is going to be some excruciatingly boring mining. If you feel like hammering one of these (his left hand held up a spike) through your eye, to relieve the monotony, then you’re working right. If you feel. The least bit excited. Stop working. Take a breath. Slow down. We’re not working now to clear a tunnel. It doesn’t matter how quick we move some stone. It matters how carefully, we move some stone. Take your brush (he enacted each step as he describes it) and clear off as much of the rock as you can. Then look for where there aren’t any bubbles. Stick the spikes at the sides of a rock and use your wrist to crack it (gently) and pull it out. Make sure, it doesn’t fall on anything.” Bale’ik makes sure everyone’s still attentive. “Nebber rules disallow a Head or more than four miners to be inside a potentially hazardous tunnel while it’s being mined. So Fhmgro is acting Head. I’ll send you down in groups of four. (Facing him)Fhmgro don’t actually mine, watch everyone else. If someone needs help with a piece help them. (Looking at no one in particular) If anyone thinks what you’re dealing with looks hard, tell Fhmgro to be a second pair of hands. Every 10 minutes the last team in-tunnel is to come back up, except Fhmgro, and I’ll choose a new four…alright. Benner, Cöntet, Leig, and Pydill you’re the first four down. The rest of you relax or practice a little.”
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“Seb, Armud, Travalskee, and Chujjin you’re the next four down.”
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“Vasan, Donaree, Beharky, and Debifuna you’re the next four down.”
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A spark. FWUSHOR The crackle of flame and pop of corpses.
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Little feet leave the floor. Huey’s hopped onto his parent’s bed. “WAKE UP!” Jell’s eyes flash open. “Don’t you ever sleep Huey?” “Nope!” “Alright, go get dressed out of your jams. What do you want for breakfast?” “Jam’n toast” comes from a pair of legs vanishing around the doorframes turn.
Huey runs down the hall to his room and slams the door. Opening the door, he shuffles through the frame holding a toboggan. Tough soles slap against the clay floor. Turning the hall-corner Huey heads for the outdoor sun. With a starting run, scanning eyes, a small hop, and clutched reins Huey rides a hill two-and-a-half times taller than his house. He’s at the midd-past a tree-turni-and done. Excited steps make the toboggan skip behind him.
At the hill-top his Mom tells him to go back inside.
They’re in room-light. “You haven’t even changed! Get in your room and choose some school clothes. Don’t make me dress you.” “Maaaaaa-om! I don’t need dressed.” “Does baby need dressed?” “No!” “Does baby need dressed?” “NO!” “Then come out in proper clothes before I’m done with breakfast.”
Huey almost chucks his toboggan. But it means too much to him so he sets it back in the toy-corner. He chooses his white Horns-man long-sleeved shirt and faded once-bright-orange overalls. Once the Commando X shoes are velcroed he’s back to running down the hall.
Loose jam splats on Huey’s plate. “This’s good Mommy!” “I’m glad you like it. Do you want more?” “No thank you ma’m”. Jell ruffles Huey’s hair. Huey skips out of his chair. “Can I go tobogganin’?” “Yes(he has already taken off to his room) you may”. Jell considers the time left to her and decides to bring her make-up kit out. She’ll be able to do her face while Huey rides downhill.
Jell wonders, as she watches Huey head down the hill a third time, if he’s safe. Most parents wouldn’t even allow an 8-year to ride down so tall and steep a hill unaccompanied. But Jalsh and Jell agreed to let Huey ride down. On his 4th birthday they gave him the toboggan. Five days later they found him outside, riding down the grass, laughing as he avoided trees, rocks, and the ravine at the hills’ bottom. It scared the hell out of them. Talking it over led them to realize that he hadn’t hurt himself. Going down the hill was dangerous but it was a danger Huey had shown he could manage. So Jalsh and Jell have allowed Huey’s tobogganing to continue.
Following Huey’s guided downhill falls, Jell ponders her child. She wonders if he’s special. She thinks of him as special; Jalsh thinks of him as special. Reaction time, eyesight, weight distribution control, and hand-eye coordination are demanded to an exceptional degree by Huey’s hill-rides. His mother wonders, is Huey an exceptional child? All the skills he uses in guiding that toboggan would make him a great pilot. Maybe that’s what he’ll grow up to be: a man who flies people from island-to-island. Then he wouldn’t need as much education (only a license) and he could help his father visit the islands he has wanted to.
There’re things Jell misses occasionally=a certain food or entertainment. Though she’s had the most expensive version (for its’ time) of every item she cared to have, Jell’s happier now than she has ever been. Having a husband who loves her provokes her to celebrate. Scampering Huey’s mere existence, and all the fulfillments/aspects of his parents he represents, evokes celebration.
Yet…focusing on her husband on son sometimes feels like a farce. When she thinks about them, spends time with them, she’s happy. She’s happy especially because she doesn’t have to think about…other things. Her father sold a beach-front mansion to buy the land of the last member of the Nidookov house. Trehmoor Waltzi Xorcupince Dustwallow, Jell’s father, loved his new land. The rarity of it, the privacy. Jell would bother pilots to let her ride along on their rounds between Spreadlands almost daily. Then Trehmoor retained a pilot to ship to his Spreadland exclusively. Jell had old friends from Ardahi’s
Huey hears from behind him the call of his mother. From the air he sends his heels to the toboggan’s sides to cancel his ride. “Lemme put my toboggan back.” “Just leave it by the door.” “Someone’ll steal it!” Jell takes the toboggan, puts it by the door, takes Huey’s hand and leads him off.
Huey’s still struggling. He looks worried. “Huey, no one’s going to take your toboggan. Alright?” “But lots of the other kids like it. They’d want it.” “The other kids parents will not allow them to steal.” Huey looks a bit more hopeful. “You’re sure they won’t come over and ride it? I’m the only one that’s real good at it. They’ll crash it!” Jell stops long enough to crouch and hold Huey. “Look, I promise you the Toboggan will be there when you get back.” “Dad promised he’d get promoted.” “(Jell fixes an intent look into Huey’s eyes) your father’s very disappointed about that. He might still receive a promotion but do not tell him you’re disappointed if he is not promoted.” “Dad’s tough h””Huey (Jell waits for the seriousness of her gaze to lower his). Daddy doesn’t show when he feels bad because he doesn’t want us to feel bad. If you remind Daddy about this promise you’ll hurt his feelings because he may not be able to keep it. You don’t want to hurt Daddy do you?” “No ma’m.” “Alright. The toboggan will be there, I’ll put it in your room’s corner when I get back. No one will take it while we’re away.”
The type of soccer-field soil that models sandstorms when a weak wind blows is the material the path they take is made of. With a gradual curve the dirt slices between grass-fields, down the hill, past houses white and cracking, and on past the bus stop they wait at. Huey holds his mommy’s hand tightly. The bus stop reeks of bad possibilities. Someone could take him. Or he/mommy could get on the bus while the other stayed behind, cut-off by the bus’s door. The bus driver could crash into the stop, muddling everyone who waited for a ride. Despite these worries, when Huey looks up, he sees his mommy slightly smiling.
Sound from the bus precedes its’ frame by a good minute. Rattle-squeak metal movements sound like mechanical rats battling traps. Near-rhythmic exhaust-blast could be gunfire. DRADUH!BUH-DRAHTA! TRAHDG! There’s an arms-length list of sounds that don’t do the engine’s main motor justice: a vacuum trying to pick up screws, the gears of a stick-shift BMW grinding, a biplane’s engine cutting out, a disposal with its’ blade stopped against a knife, the crunch of cans in a trash compactor, a tractor with wet catskin draped over it as a muffle…Indecently close to 29 seconds before the bus’s body can be seen deep grey spirals are air-shredded. Dappled with stains from a collection of jungle-plants and dirt, with windows tinted web-cracked and dusty, mounted on Jeep tires 2 inches bigger than it was manufactured with, missing a wiper, modified underneath to hold mining equipment, bulging in the back because of an air cooling monster that makes the interior like a fridge, expanded by exterior RV holding spaces, the bus finally arrives.
Jell and Huey go in past the smooth-sliding doors. They pick the cleanest seat with enough stuffing and are off.
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ol’s important because it is where you learn, all you need to know to make money.” “Aren’t there things more important than money? (Huey is struggling against Jell)” “Yes there are things more imEH more important than money. Come on, walk! (Huey walks with a slouch) Those are the things Mommy and Daddy teach you.” “Well if they’re more important, and you two teach them, why can’t I stay at home with you guys?” Jell liked to think of her son as clever. “Because, the things we have to teach you at home don’t take as long to learn. You’ll have plenty of time to learn them when you’re out of school. They’re also things that you won’t learn all-at-once. There will be times without learning in the sequence of things you learn at home. What’s taught at school isn’t as important as what we teach at home but it is important. You will need a job.” “Why can’t I live with you guys?” “Pooper,” “Don’t call me that here! I’mnotapooperanymore! Stop calling me that!” “Huey (he still has a dropped jaw and fat eyes), you won’t always want to live with Mommy and Daddy. Going to school prepares you for that day.” Jell has led Huey toward a waiting bullet-train. They’re almost there. “I miss you when I’m at school.” Jell kisses her son on the forehead. “I know Huey but you can play with Jin and Burtley now.” “I forgot about them!” “And Drubella.” “Maaaa-om (scoldingly) Drubella’s gross. She’s always wanting to (Jell has checked her watch)” “you’ve gotta catch the bullet baby. I love you, goodbye.”
A hug later and Pooper’s looking through the polished-clear windows of the train. Once adults have made sure each child is buckled into a seat the train takes off.
In less than half a second the Midsalat logo has blurred. In a full second’s time only the after-roar of the train was left. ‘The Bullet’ wasn’t aerodynamically built at all. Jell couldn’t imagine how it worked. Rectangular patches of the gray-gradient, textured, polished metal it was made of threw smoothness to the dogs. Housed behind various plates of metal, kept by struts some distance from the train’s main body, were electrical generators/transformers. 4 inch thick and narrower bolts of white centered garish-edged brilliance had strafed through the open air between covered generators. All the parents who stayed to see their children off felt the crackling force suck hair and anything but partly metallic, toward the train. Cars thinned into cylinders that connected into the next car’s larger, rectangular portion.
Jell thought about the toboggan she would relocate. She checked her watch and knew she had time enough before meeting the other ladies.
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right I’m ready.” “Jell, are you sure you’re not coming to shop with us?” “Yeah I’m sure.” “Are you positive? Last chance.” “I’m positive.” “Babes, while you’re out get me a new wife-beater will you? This one’s about run out.” “Treoneph, you leave your wuh-man to have some fun today! She don’t need to always be worrying about you.” “Bye!” “Bye.” “See you later.” “Show me what you get.” Treoneph and Jell watch a carload of women, rearin’ to shop, head out.
Treoneph’s arms hold him up against his porches’ railing. Stripes of hair zigzag his forearms. Brown arches bristle on his shoulders. He’s older than his face. Smoke weaved into clothes like a reinforcing mesh, oil lowdark cures, a consistent thin grip of sweat dapples texture ‘lapping oil and the wheat-colored hair of Treoneph. Palms calloused enough to scratch most skin show how long Treoneph has handled mining tools, as does the well-defined frame his wife-beater clings to. The dirt under his nails is offset by irises glowing blue.
“Why didn’t you go with the other women?”
“I don’t feel like shopping.”
“What do you feel like?”
“Huey’s at school and Jalsh –I feel, I don’t know how I feel, I haven’t decided yet.”
“Jalsh’s mining off-shift right now.”
“I thought some people might notice. You do live near the trail to the mines. Thanks for not telling anyone.”
“I can keep a secret.”
“I’ll tell you one then but not out here where your neighbors can listen.”
Treoneph holds the door for Jell.
“Do you want something to eat or drink?”
“No thank you I’m fine.”
Both of them settle in kitchen chairs. Jell collects her thoughts. Treoneph watches, patiently.
“Me and Jalsh have been doing good lately, but in another way, we haven’t. You know? We’d get into fights, and we don’t do that anymore, but I liked it better that way. Because then, I knew what he was thinking. And he knew what I was thinking but now, it always seems like he’s holding something from me. When we talk I can tell he’s thinking. But he doesn’t say what’s on his mind. I’m not saying everything on my mind but its’ not like its’ my fault because he isn’t telling me everything on his mind either. I’d tell him but I need to know why he’s keeping things from me in the first place. If his work isn’t my business I don’t see how my business is his business.”
Treoneph would say something, but he knows Jell didn’t want advice. She was just venting. He waits for her to say something more.
“I’ve told you a secret. You should tell me one to make it even.”
Treoneph throws a wry look at Jell. He leans across the table and waves for her to do the same. With a wind of his tongue he whispers,
“there’s no woman, more beautiful than you”,
against her earlobe. Wetly.
Ξ Ξ 4 Ξ Ξ
That’s the end of it. As far in as he could fit, Jalsh had indented the mine-tunnel’s end. Can’t even get my elbows pass the sides. {a tunnel-end. The left side of which is further back, beyond PrecisionPick reach.}Deposits. To the right of his subtraction, the fool’s gold deposits start.
Jalsh hefts his PrecisionPick back a ways down the tunnel. {a cart with plastic, lidded, containers on top of it in a grip. Their top halves are clear.} Jalsh: turns on the PrecisionPick’s safety, unclamps the end of it, take out the bit, opens the lid of a container, and sticks the end of the PrecisionPick in. On the PrecisionPick’s side is a segment that’s cut out from the rest, it juts out past the side’s flat surface. A press of this makes the dirt slough the PrecisionPick to fill the container. A closed lid, reassembly, and a hot motor have passed now that Jalsh’s ready to mine his disappointment.
ה ה ה
Usually their fights were quiet enough to ignore. On his way to the Real Estate Records Office, Bale’ik’s ears were assaulted by the hiss spit’n roar of Jalsh and Jell Muhnter fighting. Not in want of stressful sounds, Bale’ik moved past the accusations of deceit.
From her first steps into miner central, Jell was hailed as a beauty. Men were already married and ‘young adults’ didn’t have the guts so Jell went unclaimed. Until Jalsh had heard about her heritage. About every single man in town was preparing for the blow of hearing “no, I won’t go out with you but you’re mighty flattering”; many men were making keener observations for their third try. The way Treoneph tells it, “Jalsh didn’t seem n-e more excited about Jell than any of the other guys. But when we’re talking we get to her being loaded. Well, turns out she’s not-but at the time, we thought she was. So Jalsh hears this. And then he’s taking off he’s outofthe bar, he’s off lookingforher, and he’s the first guy to think ‘I should go about it subtle’. You can tell that because while all the other guys are ‘will you go out with me? Will you go out with me?’ Jalsh is just helping her out. Jell needs a car door opened? He’s there to open it. He’s always there. He’s fastest out the gate but man, he played it smart. Now he’s the only guy she’s really connected with so when he asks her out what do you think she says? Ofcourse yes! And after that, swoop (sends hand out like a plane) he’s in good. Some romantasizing (which made him live nearly on scraps) and he’s golden. He may have been close to broke for about two years-no, a year and a half, but that’s nothing compared to what he thought he’d get. Though he didn’t get anything. First he found out, then it spread ‘round the town ‘Jell came from the Spreadlands cause she has no money’. It’s obvious now. 20/20 hindsight, eh? But man o man, any guy would go with that babe-who cared what she pulled? But you know Jalsh. And you know how his old man was like…did you hear, just the other day, the racket they were kicking up….”
Even as the cries of anger, back-and-forth, left earshot, some of Bale’ik’s heart stayed in that house. He just hoped that some day something would come into that marriage to make them love each other. All of Robcay’s work slowed down while his parents were separated. Work didn’t seem as important to him when he knew the very bond that made him, the union of his parents, could break. Bale’ik didn’t blame him for leaving patent-worthy layouts and models unfinished. There were more important things to put together. Moving his thoughts from marital problems (to lighten his heart), Bale’ik prepared for a different kind of move. RERO used to be the town’s bank before the miner’s union made it common practice to keep cash on-hand/at-home. Nebber now uses the nobility of paneled walls, a pillar-held roof, and heavy amounts of colorful polished marble from their own mines for movement house services. A thin man with reddish-brown hair, a silver-trimmed black collar bordering his white inner shirt, and a seven turned upside down between his eyes, as large as his lips are pursed looked lonely. The room’s large and he was the only one in it. Reflections from the floor gave a second witness to the scarcity of people. Raised, almost like a judge, behind a bench of engraved mahogany, he looked more likely to cringe at his voices’ echo than to make a command. Leaving the hall with final steps, Bale’ik called out “I’m here to move.” The room doesn’t necessitate as raised a voice as he had thought. “Give me your papers please.” The benchman’s leaned over his ledge. Bale’ik handed them up. “So you’re selling your house, lot M-205?” “Yes.” “Do you want to have Nebber replace your home with one in a different shaft-zone?” “Yes” “Where?” “zone 23.”
The 23rd zone was mining the oldest open tunnel at the time. Mid-yield substances were found in it very regularly. Once every two years or so a great-yield was even found. A lot of miners moved to zones where they could work another decade. But Bale’ik had just come back from his 3 year commissioning and wanted the earliest steady work. He knew that there were atleast a couple more great-yield’s at the 23rd; Bale’ik was sure he would claim one.
“We have…a plethora of houses to choose from in the 23rd. Here (he hands Bale’ik a map).” Bale’ik found the red (this means its’ unoccupied) house closest to the tunnels. With his finger on the home he had chosen, Bale’ik held the map up to the benchman. “Here. I-11”.
ה ה ה
Bale’ik Beck Huss held up his hands to keep from crying. Sideswept showers of dirt ground against his flanks. With whiny alterations in pitch the wind picked up, in intensity, topsoil. Pieces of aerial mineral-compounds filled the crevasses of Bale’ik’s clothes to overflowing. Swirls sashayed the plateaus/wrinkles of Bale’ik’s jacket. Dry grains spilled from disturbed protruding curves, joining flakes that followed after unknown callers like iron fillings to a magnet, turning the atmosphere turbid.
Most people, normal people, were inside. Today Bale’ik would get an upgrade for his PrecisionPick. Better parts=better digs. It was a burden for Bale’ik to hold even when he worked, so his father set Bale’ik’s PrecisionPick, with his own PrecesionPick, in the luggage-straps of Bale’ik’s father’s motorcycle. They didn’t need to go very fast to make work on time but a bike sure made moving two PrecesionPick’s weight much easier. And Bale’ik adored the ride. Now it was rough bumps, gradual curves, and steep drops too advanced for Bale’ik. Atleast according to his father. But Bale’ik was beyond his peers in mechanical skill, excluding Robcay or Watmihnell, and soon enough for him he’d steer that ‘cycle. Friends of Bale’ik’s, Robcay and Watmihnell were the two youngest miners in this generation of the town. Bale’ik was of the lowest-age starters among the town, excluding those outliers. Sixteen was and is pretty average an age for five to nine of the new miners who follow their pops to work. Watmihnell was only fourteen when he took to the tunnels. Robcay was thirteen. Early-pubescence gave Robcay a step up. Genius isn’t a requirement for the use of a PrecisionPick but size and strength are. To start their sons on learning the ways of a miner, many fathers let their children maintain their equipment. There was enough trust between Robcay and his father that the latter allowed the former to dis&re+assemble some of his equipment. A father was made proud when his son showed him improvements he had made. Within the year he let his son fiddle with his mining gear, Robcay’s father was promoted to captain of his mining team. Seeing his son had grown used to the bulk of PrecisionPicks, mining uniforms, and dirt-carts plus had the skill to use sampler boxes, temporary load-bearers, nails, hammers, and claim flags, Mr.Petone made sure Robcay got a mining license. Watmihnell worked at the only grocer’s around: Fills. Horticulture drew him to work with plants something fierce. When his father (Mr.Hasa) brought home spare mineral-samples from digs he found his son knew what they were before he was told. He had actually read the manual given to miner’s for fun and memorized most of it. Lankiness wasn’t a problem for Watmihnell because he never had to actually mine. He became a Mineral Appraiser. Some types of underground fungus are even classified as great-yield and Watmihnell knows them all. Bale’ik? At 16, when most fathers give their teens a try at using an old-fashioned pick (wooden shaft, double-crescent head and all) Mr.Huss realized his son, though not yet proficient, had the potential to be a better miner than he himself was. Mr.Huss could see in Bale’ik’s first strikes that, though he lacked a fluidity in pick-use (he was as clumsy in how he held it as any other new miner) that miners had, he singled out parts of his target to leave intact. Once he was familiar with mining, Bale’ik showed he could avoid damaging goods beyond many of the men on his team. But each of Robcay’s equipment configurations had replaced the prior standard or were being adopted by miners-in-the-know; Watmihnell lived easily enough as a Mineral Appraiser, he even had time for an exotic/hybrid-fruit business on the side, and his earnings were enough to convince his dad to encourage his son in his passion; and Bale’ik was still just another miner. Robcay would probably make a patent someday. Then he’d be rich and off to the Spreadlands. Bale’ik planned for his extended stay in-town. A life’s worth of stay. Already, Bale’ik had stayed long enough to buy something to preempt future burdens.
The wind had grown slack Like arms that will no longer hold a burden. Like curtains slipping off a hanging rod. Like a bouche ou“mme back Scab-woman!” “I’m not given’it!” “Yes you ahrrrr!” “Nu-uh! Why would I?” “’cause I’ll beat you up!” “I’m gonna beat you up!” “Neither of you will beat the other one up. Now what’s the problem?”
“ ”
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“Quiet! Jalsh, what’d you do now?” “he took scab-woman!” “Clapins! Tell me without yelling.” “We was playing, and now he won’t give Scab-woman back.” “Jalsh, where is Scab-woman?” “I hid her.” “Go and get her.” Adding a pinch of skin above his nose, between his eyes, to match his crossed arms, Jalsh stuck his chin out in determination. “(his voice is rising with each word) I’m not (clamorously lowering) gettinger.” “Why won’t you just give Clapins his toy back?” “Because he agreed to give it to me.” “He’s lying!” “Are not!” “Jalsh, (Jalsh’s head turns back to Bale’ik) why do you think that Clapins agreed to give his toy to you? “Because I asked him if I could have it if it didn’t make a jump and he said yes.” “I did nah-aught!” “Clapins, what happened?” “We were playing and he asked to play with Scab-woman and I let him, (a sum of breath) and then he wouldn’t give her back!” “(looking at Jalsh) is this true.” “I already told you-oo, I won’t give her back ‘cuz he said I could have her.” “(eyes nearly rolling, a sigh close) what’s this about a jump?” From behind a wall of sand the wind let fall, Mr. Muhnter steps in close enough to see everyone. “Bale’ik, you leave my boy alone now. Clapins you go on home.” “Mr. Munter it sounds like your son took a toy of the other boy’s.” Mr.Muhnter is walking over to Bale’ik. “I don’t see why you involve yourself in boys’ disputes. (Mr.Muhnter stops and looks down at the head-hair below his pecks) It sounds like, you’re leaving”.
You have to understand that Mr.Muhnter worked-out his way to find a wife. His face wouldn’t do it. He was still old-fashioned enough to use a double-headed pick. Other miners gave him a great berth for his pick-swings. No other miner could handle a pick as heavy as him. In his early twenties, shortly before his marriage, he got tired of stooping and stood up quick in a shaft to stretch. Gave him a concussion. After that the mines’ clearance minimum clearance level was raised. As a hobby, a bunch of the mining teams hold weight-lifting championships for club members. From the time he joined the weight lifting club until he was 37, Johanas Mill Muhnter won every weight-lifting championship. His skin was a grayish olive-green, the type of complexion that didn’t help people who had to look at him. There were almost as many hairs on him as muscles. Ms. Muhnter married Johanas because he hadn’t met a man fitter than himself.
So Bale’ik left.
“(looking up from a small inventory checklist)…Bale’ik. What have you come for?” “Thunderbird™Airweight©”. “Do you have $425?” “I have $450 to cover tax too.” Mr. Jinket, owner of the parts store Jinket’s Trinkets, lugged a shiny, silver-washed-with-white bitstock from off its’ holder on the wall. Bale’ik dips his right hand into its’ matching back pocket. 5 bills scuffle across the counter where the behemoth piece of metal sits Mr.Jinket looks up for a smattering of seconds, thinking. “Your change comes out to $22.50”. Money switches pockets. “Do you want a dolly to take that home with?” It was Bale’ik’s intention to grow used to the drillstock’s weight on the walk home. But with the wind...”yeah, I’ll take the dolly.” Mr.Jinket wheels one around the counter. Together they load the piece onto the dolly. “Thanks.” “Just bring it back sometime this week.” And Bale’ik passes through the door with the ring of a customers-bell.
д д д
re’s a chance I’ll still find something. “ge” A snowballs’ chance in hell. With the extra time needed to save the fool’s gold,( I’m barely making progress)/(it’s hardly worth coming out here in the morning). I can’t believe people pay for this crap. They know it’s not real, it’s not even as conductive.
I’m not going to get this promotion. Never really expected to find much by the side of the fools’ gold but I’m sure-as-hell not finding anything in it.
What to tell Huey…’Daddy wasn’t promoted this time son, but there’ll be other times.’ {Huey’s face turned down, attempting to hide disappointment} He wouldn’t want to hurt my feelings…I’ll just be honest. ‘I meant to be promoted this time, I thought I would (or else I wouldn’t have made that promise) but, atleast we’ve learned not to make promises we don’t decide whether we keep or not’. That’s so lame! He doesn’t need to hear that; it’s not as if he’ll promise us anything. Promise…maybe this will work out alright. When Huey comes to understand the plight of a miner,( that we can never really control what we find)/(how much money we get), he won’t want to be one. Then he’ll study harder in school and become something his children will be proud of. {home}
A quiet living room. Jalsh opens the door and sets his things down for the moment. A hallway where Jell sits. Jalsh enters the hallway to see a cascade of feathery light show his wife’s sad face.
“Honey, is everything alright.” Jell turns around slowly, her hands are holding her elbows, her forearms lie across her bellybutton. “…” Jalsh touches his wife’s face. Her head shivers away. “Baby what’s wrong? Huh? Tell me.” Jalsh can see her set her mind in order. “Treoneph told me I’m the most beautiful woman in the world.” Jell looks up, meaningfully, into Jalsh’s eyes. A suspicious anger simmers there. “I’m not used to men-or anyone being so brash as people are here. It’s all new to me and today when…” Jell looks at a corner of the hallway. More delicately, slower, Jalsh touches Jell’s face, lifts her chin, and looks into her eyes. “Jell, you have to tell me, what happened?”…“…I went over to Gentri’s where we had agreed I would be earlier. The other women were going out shopping, as usual, but I was” Jell’s eyes are moister “concerned for you. I know last night you didn’t sleep well. So I decided to stay there, at Gentri’s house, while she went out. Treoneph and me were the only one’s left,” a seriousness comes through grated teeth “what’d he do?” “he, came on to me.” Jalsh is somewhat taken aback. He expected worse. “How exactly?” “He invited me inside, to keep talking he said” . “Honey are you sure, he didn’t invite you in just to talk.” Pouting, Jell turns her head to the left, then the right, then back to center. “As he said it he did this:” Jell performs Treoneph’s gesture on her husband.
Jalsh returns to the hall with a pick. “What are you doing with that old fashioned thing?” “I’m going to beat some old-fashioned sense into Treoneph”.
Ξ Ξ 5 Ξ Ξ
Arrows blocked the midground in their upward hail of jade and emerald. A torrent of movement upward, each hungry arrowhead tore threw the sea above.
She was flying so lightly when the second loop of a handcuff connected to a train clamped around her ankle. An almost audible internal squish must have been made by her organs as they were pressed in a full-body pinch. Reeling with the feelings of a tackled woman Qwehpass couldn’t make out the sickle-tips so terrible that light retreated at their touch. She couldn’t see her rescue…
The suckered-tipped end of a tentacle dove down a hungry throat. A throat not hungry for tentacle. Rirch-uhll. Behind the tentacle’s withdraw an iron maiden closed. On the left side of a muzzle came the sucker punch.
Orange-furred paws clenched the shrubby soil. Muscle outweighing all of a man’s poundage recoiled, tensed, bulged, held position. On top of a potential meal, this predator wasn’t convinced to quit yet.
Otovis had time. The beast, 2? 21/2? times Otovis’s bulk watched. Its’ head swiveled round after Otovis. Every now and then it flinched at him, clawing the Earth, bearing its’ mouthful of cutters. Hindquarters repositioned, switching the diagonal the creature crouched over Qwehpasse’s body at. Yellow eyes held a maliciousness paled by the low rrrrrrrrr rhythmically sending warning from the monsters throat. He stopped it from finishing her, from swallowing a freshly cut chunk of neck. But a punch to its’ mouth only put it on guard. Hovering, switching positions to find an unseen sensitive spot, Otovis didn’t know what to do next. The beast did. Convinced Otovis wasn’t about to dive in, it reared down to rip open under Qwehpasses chin. Otovis did-dive-in but, too late…
Bounding off with unconscious booty held by its’ jaw, the tiger blended between drooping vines, laden with meters of moss, hung from spider-web-limbed trees, moreso in the distance. Squeezing out ballast air to close that distance, Otovis sought after the native.
In light leaps it gracefully landed on stone ledges. They were speckled with freckles of mold. Having used some of his ballast gas to fly faster, Otovis couldn’t hover as high as the quadruped had jumped. What to do, attack? No. Not yet. Still, from the stalkers mouth, limply, Qwehpass hung. He didn’t know its’ behavior. If he swept in wouIt finished the ridges. Rather than wait to build more ballast air or circle around, Otovis pointed his Issdugh nearly directly down. Angled slightly away from the rock ridges, the ballast he blew through it placed him on the other side.
A soggy icecap of black-scarred fur paddled away down a river. Under the river, reoriented, Otovis saw Qwehpass’s open eyes.
{Otovis in water, Near-panic} Oh God, please give me the strength I need!
Fingers thinner than a man’s slid past those throat-nestling teeth and reached within a mouth. Qwehpass separated jaws of decomposed meats’ loci. She was out and under the man-eater. Scattering bubbles it 360ed. It needn’t have been hurt. When those familiar fangs charged Qwehpass’s underwater neck, she snatched fur between her fingers and flung the thing away. It was so forcefully flung that a wave taller than Qwehpass raised from the river while the tiger became as thoughtful as sediment by headbutting some. It’ll wake. With her head bowed and feeners folded in respect, Qwehpass thought Thank you [to the]Lord.
д д д
“I didn’t know what to do” “What could you do?” “I don’t know. It’s not like this damnable place is familiar.” “Rainy enough.” “True.” “Air’s nice and watery. Wouldn’t have to resubmerge for a mark while hear.” “That too. It’s our ambush I had in mind.” “Wasn’t so bad.” “You missed most of it.” “But I saw the best part.” “So did I. You’re lucky.” “I’m nothing; God’s everything.” “What’s that?” “I didn’t really do anything. God gave me the power to knock that thing out.” Both Alehii wait for the others expression to change from thought on that statement. “That’s ridiculous.” “Why?” “You were knocked out, you came to, you got an adrenaline rush, and did some feats of strength. They amazed me. But that doesn’t make them miracles.” “If I was adrenaline-mad, where would I have the patience to put my fingers between its’ teeth without touching it anywhere else?” “Prijunga.” “Prijunga?” “Don’t tell me you don’t believe in Prijunga either? How else could you know how to best use that thing’s momentum to swing it back around? You didn’t have time (or consciousness) to find out where its’ center-of-gravity was. But you spun it well enough to knock it out without mortally wounding it and, all in-one-move.” “Why do you believe in Prijunga?” “Its been proven!” “How?” “You just showed me how!” “I explained that.” “You explained it like an idiot.” The muscles beneath the skin on Qwehpass’s face squirm. “By faith all things are possible.” “Then make Sabzan appear here.”, “come-on make him.” “I can’t make anything happen.” “Then ask God.” “If you want him to you ask him.” Eyes wide, glittering green because of the canopy they roll to, Otovis invokes “O õ God, great God, please make Sabzan appear here.” With more motion than necessary Otovis looks to the left than the right around where they sit. “See? Nothing.” “And how much faith did you have?” “I certainly have none now.” “If I mocked you would you answer me?” “To get your attention, yes.” “If I mocked you in my question?” “Yes” “You’re a liar.” Otovis’s lids come closer to one another. “I’ll take that as due to your adrenaline not being all flushed out, makes you emotional.” “Isn’t Prijunga supposed to work on emotion?” “No. It’s known by reason.” “You said yourself I had no time to reason things out.” “No, I said you hadn’t the time to find the center of gravity.” “One implies the other.” “It doesn’t matter. Our communal raisers proved Prijunga.” “Explain to me how it works.” “Worked. Here’s how it worked: There were 5 original Accedos. Each Accedo reproduced. As one accedoson came into contact with another accedoson the energy of their metabolisms would overlap due to proximity. So every time they interacted, some from one, would become part of the other. In this way, after thousands of revolutions of the Earth, descendents from the Accedos blended into numerous new beings. It’s still happening. You showed that with the beast back there.” “Where did the original 5 Accedo come from?” “They couldhavecome from anywhere. We can move through this air, why couldn’t there be something that flies through the air outside the Earth?” “Maybe there are things that fly beyond our boundaries. But there’s no reason to believe that.” “There’s no reason in what you believe.” “Insulting me with lies isn’t a reason for the claims you’ve made.” “You insult me by calling me liar. I haven’t been so disrespectful once.” “You haven’t called me a liar but you’ve said things implying such. But that’s beside the point. Where, did, the Accedos come from?” “The energy of the Earth may have formed them. I don’t know but it’s better to admit you don’t know than to pretend you know everything.” “I haven’t claimed to know everything.” “Your God does.” “He does.” “He does claim to know everything, how can he?” “Do you remember the communal raising morning song?” “That has nothing to do with anything.” “It does, just trust me.” “I don’t.” “What does it take to earn your trust?” “Trustworthiness.” “Have we not fought together. Do you doubt that if you had been incapacitated I would have hunted down the ambusher?” “There’s a law””against watching a kindred be killed, without helping, unless at an execution. Just answer my questions and then you’ll know if you should have or shouldn’t have trusted me. Do you remember the song.” “No I don’t.” “Do you remember the courting song of your wife.” “Yes. My memory’s not that bad nor am I loveless, if that’s what you seek to imply.” “I know you’re not loveless. If you didn’t love anything you wouldn’t do anything. It’s what and how much you love that matters.” “You think loving God is all that matters.” “I wouldn’t be here if I did. So you remember the song you sang to court your wife because you love her right?” “Yes. But my wife and mine affairs are ours. If you start prying, I’m done answering questions.” “God is like you were in a way with your wife. He has made all that is, as you made your song, so he could have a relationship with someone else, like you sung so you could be with someone else.” “I didn’t make my wife.” “Would you not want to be with her if you had?” Otovis almost takes enough time to think of an answer. “You’ve healed up. Lets’ find Sabzan.” “Let’s not go until we finish this conversation.” “This conversation will never finish for there will be no conversion.” “You have to stay awhile, I’m still weak.” “That’s the pregnancy talking.” Otovis looks a sliver shameful, realizing how rude his words were. Qwehpass’s jaw picks up from its’ dropped position to talk once more. “You make it sound like a pregnancy’s a bad thing…don’t you and Plezzur-ruciele want a child?” “I’d tell you if I knew you. We have to find Sabzan.” “Where do you suggest we start looking?” “Nothing can really be seen through these trees so we should search up top. If he flies up high enough to even get his bearings we’ll have him.” Qwehpass is above the forest. Otovis isn’t. “Hurry up!” “I’m going as fast as I can.” “Why is that less now? Didthething hurt you?” “No, I used some of my ballast for propulsion.” “I think it’ll be easier to capture Sabzan if you can keep up with him. It won’t be hard for me to cover the area. When he’s seen and on the run is when I’ll need your help the most. So please, rest some. I’ll try to get you before chasing him.” “Remember you’re here to see an execution not perform one. I’ll be resting down here (he points in the direction he’s sinking) when you find him”.
Otovis would argue if he had any confidence in his search-plan succeeding. Sabzan could have flown off while they were fighting. Finding his trail in closed, unfamiliar territory…
The air’s too thick and sticky here. The sooner we’re home the better. {horizontally split half-crescents wiping the jungles into blackness. Reverence.} “Thank you God for your provisions today, thank you for giving me the strength to save our lives, thank you for making it so that when the thing hit me, it didn’t hit my baby. Please comfort Waltzi while I’m away. Please make this end quick –but please, don’t let Sabzan die by Otovis’s hands if he’s innocent. Take Otovis out of his job and into a guards’ sight if he’s an unjust executioner.”
Qwehpass is comfortable saying such things because of the sheets of leaves layered underneath her, rustling in the wind. On her way up through them, she heard the chortles and calls of ground-walking animals less and less. Now she only hears the air around her ruffled by birds unheard, below the top-most lapping leaves. Were Otovis to hear here he would first need to breach the weighty green top of the jungle. Knowing he hasn’t, Qwehpass has full confidence that her thoughts are without listener.
{treetops.} This is a bust. We’ve lost Sabzan and have no reason to find him. The cloud we could see the whole way around. This island wouldn’t ever force Sabzan to come out: there’re plenty of things I bet he could eat here, the islands begin enough he won’t run out of places to hide, and at any time the sky is clear he can fly off to a Prada of his choosing! I’ll let Sabzan know I’m going back. {bracing} It’ll be a long trip {weariness} but {Weltzi and Qwehpass holding each other, floating, asleep} it’ll be better than {the forest quivering with creatures’ movement}this.
Qwehpass lets the tree-leaves engulf her, then she falls further.
“Do you ever keep your post?” “I’m going to go.” “What! We agreed you’d search while I rested. I (he floats toward the tree-ceiling) couldn’t even trust you for a minute. When one of us isn’t looking for him Sabzan will escape.” They’re moving up through the canopies. “Otovis…where are we going to look? Sabzan could be anywhere. We’ve wasted enough time here, lets return to Bellimiss.” “We can return but why not enjoy our time away from home?” “Stay here if you want. Without anything to track I have no reason to be here.” “You said that you were ordered to come to help me track and witness the execution”. Because I’m the only one of us who can track. ה{Otovis holding fish} ‘I hoped if I got my strength up I could find him.’ “There won’t be an execution. You’re not going to find Sabzan. I can’t find him with (she gestures steadily over the landscape) this.” “Fine go. I’ve went over my required executions for this year. I’ll check this place out, it’s beautiful (he looks around the land lit by a sun that has yet to set). But if I do find Sabzan, what will you tell Dihead.” “The truth: it seemed unlikely to me that we would find him because there was no trackable area left. By some good for you, you found him.” “Well then, thanks for your help.” “You’re welcome. Nice working with you.” “I hope I didn’t offend you too much with anything I said.” “No not at all. I hope you come to know the truth.” A wave runs through Otovis’s brow. “When you have the bKERUM
Both Alehii look to the mountains. Echoes of a gunshot have bounded back into their ears. “Could be ‘cuz of Sabzan”. They’re already flying toward the mountains.
A rush of air.
“Damnable beast”-Sabzan. Perhaps the nervousness bred by deaths’ possible imminence has made hearing any voice, even his own, a comfort. Surrounded by life he’s still alone. Although fortunate in that his would-be captors are currently unaware of him, he feels unfortunate. Below him, a gang of miscreants has stolen his meal. He could fight them for it. Not knowing if he’d win or if the outcry of an injured thief would draw unwanted attention, he watches. Watches them snarl with hunger. He hopes their teeth will soon be satisfied with meat. By the vigor with which they tear into downed deliciousness…Sabzan doubts it.
Defeated, he decides it’s time to move on carefully. Slow shoves of his lifelong-winding tail shove him further up. Vegetation audibly brushes his down but not so loud that the sound carries dangerously far. Finally the warm pressure of piled-high sun-suckers is pushed below Sabzans head. Two turns to the right and he finds the mountains. Two more and he would have noticed his pursuers behind and above him..
Returning to a tails’ tip above ground layer, Sabzan takes one last look at the tiger before moving on.
It dived for him soon after he came down through the upper canopies. Releasing some auxiosemedaphine allowed him to escape an easy death. A vibration of his down shakes the chemical from his pores. It clings to his feathers and obscures the pigmentation of the air around them, so Sabzan looks like a smudge. Repositioned after its’ failure the whiskered stalker waited for a new opportunity. Sabzan watched. It wasn’t long before he pulled an unconscious meal from the river. Relief filled Sabzan as he thought the tiger would be enough food to keep him a free fugitive. It was dragged by him through the jungle, closer to the mountains, not so much for protection but because the Trabanz are never still. Rotations by their tail make hovering in place less comfortable than flying. It was easy for Sabzan to kill the knocked-out heavyweight. Red meat was at his mouth’s disposal in excess. It would have been his mouths’ alone if he hadn’t needed water. Right after swallowing his first biteful of fat and protein, Sabzan found he would choke (he had chewed too little in his hunger) without water. Returning from a stream (sibling to the tiger’s bed), he found an unfamiliar batch of cherry-picking unwelcome fridge-raiders.
д д д
Once past the mountains, both Alehii dive beneath the uppermost canopy, so they can’t be seen in the air by townspeople. A tailed streak whips past them, splattering blood. They look at each other.
““SABZAN.””
They turn after the trail of blood to follow. Had they flew a bit further they would have heard the cry: “THE TRABANZ KILLED Jalsh!”.
Ξ Ξ 6 Ξ Ξ
Tree branches twist and birds shout. Twigs are detached (snapped) off of bent limbs by the forcefully passing pair. Smaller, quicker Otovis comes close enough to claw at Sabzan’s sinewy back. Talon-esque digits wedge their ways through soft layers of feathers, flexible pimpled skin, and begin to bleed the muscles beneath. “RITIAHRTIQUIRTAHIE…” continues Sabzan, arced and screaming. Before Otovis’ second hand smacks down an unpadded elbow checks him in the cheek. Tail whips back to turn torso toward back-cutter. Otovis hand of first blood rends tendons along the arm which would have delivered Sabzan’s sixth consecutive punch. “YIELD Sabzan! You’re outnumbered.” The fugi. turns to see who spoke while Otovis withdraws, withholding from delivering further damage. “I’ve (snarling) committed (narrow-eyed) no crime (baring teeth) !”. “Then prove it by trial”. Sabzan looks at Otovis to prompt his word. “If we can’t restrain you here we’ll kill without trial.” Focused on Otovis, Sabzan’s eyes widen and the muscles which held his jaw taunt slacken. 165 pounds of tail snap across Otovis’ diaphragm. Qwehpass blocks him with her body and drops Sabzan with a fist to the face. Well, his upper body bends and falls onto the top of his tail. It still turns, keeping his unconscious form floating.
д д д
{irritating pain somewhere near my right shoulder, air pushing against my skin, arms in mine, jungle tree tops passing below, the isles coast close ahead, an Alesha holding my left arm, she knocked me out, that leaves Otovis on my right, he sees I’m awake, I’ll escape} “you’re sick Trabanz. What’d you kill that there’s blood on you?” “An orange quadruped with black stripes” {appease him} “too bad the cursed thing didn’t dine on us, huh? After you sent it our way.” {I said I killed it!. Can’t send a corpse out to assassinate. } Otovis holds a glare for a second then looks ahead. “Qwehpass, hold onto him for a while I have to get something.” Qwehpass asks what
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